


amy santiago is an amazing nurse/patient

by benwvatt



Series: each and every universe [3]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medical, F/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2018-12-03 15:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11535153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benwvatt/pseuds/benwvatt
Summary: “Patients,” Jake quips. “Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em.”Nurses Jake Peralta and Amy Santiago both work at Brooklyn City Hospital. They know how to aid every ailment, but they can't change the way they feel about each other.





	1. one

“Thank goodness, doctor, we were so worried! Tell me, will-”

“I’m not your doctor, ma’am. I’m Nurse Peralta, just call me Jake, and Dr. Jeffords will be in to see you soon. I’m simply here to see your daughter, check her chart, and make sure everything’s comfortable.”

The patient’s mother ashamedly apologizes, and Jake tells her it’s no problem. He takes a deep breath and does his job, exiting the patient’s bedside once Terry enters the room. As soon as Jake shuts the door, he sees Amy a few feet away, her hand on her hip.

“Hey, Dr. Peralta, how’s your day been?” she quips. 

_“Shush,_ you,” Jake replies, knocking his shoulder against hers as they walk downstairs for lunch. He met Amy back when they were college students in training, and they stuck together like two peas in a pod. “It’s not my fault the gender gap in the nursing field is incorrigible!”

 _“Incorrigible,”_ Amy repeats, a smile clear on her face. “Is that from your word-of-the-day toilet paper stash?”

“That it is,” Jake confirms. “I have you to thank for being so … munificent.”

“No problem!” Amy replies. “Always happy to buy you vocabulary-related gifts.”

“Always happy to receive your gifts,” Jake responds, making his way toward the rotunda. 

He frowns all of a sudden. “Hey, where’s your lunch?”

Hospital food is famous for its (lack of) quality, and Brooklyn City Hospital is no different. Jake and Amy have taken up bringing their lunches over the years, but Amy’s familiar navy blue lunchbox is nowhere to be seen.

“I have to buy today.” Amy sighs. “You know how the electricity at my place is iffy, right? There was a power outage all yesterday. Aside from the fact that I didn’t have wifi yesterday, my food went bad.”

Jake gasps in mock horror. “Don’t let them do this to you, Ames!”

“What else can I do, move out?” Amy mutters. “You know I can’t afford that. I’ll just have to grin and bear it.”

In defeat, Amy joins the crowd of physicians in the lunch line. Jake haplessly waves from their regular lunch table, unwrapping his ham and cheese sandwich. By the time Amy returns, holding a tray with milk, fruit, and Uncrustables, Jake is half done with his meal.

“How’s your day been, Jake? I didn’t get to ask.” Amy pitifully looks at her lunch, distracting herself with companionship.

“It’s alright. Nothing out of the ordinary,” he answers. “Uh, a teenage girl hurt her kidneys playing soccer 一 her mom was the one who mistook me for a doctor. It was really a one-in-a-million kind of injury, apparently, from getting hurt in the back and side. I saw a bunch of patients for heart problems and checkups, and I prepped a guy for a liver transplant.”

“Not bad,” Amy says. “I saw two different kids in for broken fingers, and I took care of a patient who just got an appendectomy. Is it just me, or does the hospital really need more blankets? Every single one of my patients was annoyed about that. ”

“It’s not just you. Every time a patient calls for me, I already know to pick up blankets before I reach their bed.”

“Of course the hospital can spent thousands on a new MRI machine, which I’m not saying isn’t helpful,” Amy grumbles. “I just wish they would spend a little of their funding on making patients more comfortable.”

“Exactly!” Jake agrees. “We get it, fancy equipment is a lot more likely to save a life than some new blankets or, god forbid, hiring new nurses. At the end of the day, though, can’t we spare _something_ to help make patients a little happier while they’re here?”

“Hey, guys!” Gina interrupts, waving and setting down her lunch tray. “Mind if I sit here?”

“Sure thing, Gina,” Amy answers. “Anything for a fellow nurse.”

“What were you two talking about?” Gina asks, already checking her phone for updates. She’s recently begun dating Rosa Diaz, a surgeon at the hospital, and they’ve been inseparable ever since.

“Hospital funding,” Jake groans. “I just wish they’d spend a little on basic stuff for patients, so nurses didn’t have to deal with complaints so often.”

“Same!” Gina adds. “People demand simple stuff all the time! You know, give me more ice chips. Adjust my pillows. It’s _endless.”_

“And all the _questions,”_ Amy whines. “When can I leave? How long will it be before I can work? Why do I have to talk all these pills? And, last but not least … ”

“How long until I can have sex?” Amy says monotonically, with Jake and Gina chiming in right behind her.

“Patients,” Jake quips. “Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em.”

* * *

“Jake!” Charles Boyle, the nurse practitioner, calls the next morning. “We’ve digitally shared the list of patients with you. Um, a word of advice, check the third one from the top.”

“Okay?” Jake shrugs and raises an eyebrow before scanning over the list. He has the girl with the hurt kidneys from yesterday, a couple people in for minor scrapes and injuries, and一

“No,” he gasps, paling and running a hand through his hair.

Within a second, Jake is running for the elevator and taking it to the third floor of the hospital. He gazes through the window in room 325A with worry, and gently knocks twice.

Jake’s too impatient to wait for a response. Someone he loves is on the other side of the door, and they need his help.

“Hey,” he coaxes. “Guess you didn’t think I’d ever be your nurse, huh?”

No reply.

Nurse Amy Santiago is laying in the hospital bed, her normally neat hair splayed across the pillows. She occasionally stirs, but she never says a thing. Her body is pale, shivering every so often and turned to one side.

Only the sound of Jake’s voice and the computerized noises from the hospital machines fill the air.

“I’d love to stay for a personal visit, but I have too many patients,” Jake admits, running his hand through his hair while he sits by the edge of the bed. “I’m just here to check your vitals and keep you comfortable, okay?”

“I wish I knew what happened to you,” he murmurs. “Your chart's pretty simple so far. Apparently CPR was performed when you were found?”

Amy suddenly turns to her left side, and Jake hopes with all his heart she’ll wake up.

She doesn’t.

“Hope you’re alright,” Jake goes on. He’s already exhausted, and it’s only 9 A.M. “The patient I told you about, the one with kidney problems, needs to see me. Love you, Ames.”

Jake spends the rest of his day nervously asking for updates on Amy’s status. He visits her room more often than he really should. Rampant worries overflow in his mind, taking him on a roller coaster of expectations. Ever hopelessly, he texts Amy (she’s _'santiaghost'_ in his phone because she hates Halloween.)

His efforts are futile.

He eats dinner with Charles, since Gina and Rosa are off-campus for a date. Charles receives the brunt of Jake’s worrying. At least he’s sympathetic, thoughtfully nodding along and wishing Jake the best. Amy and Charles are close, of course, but they don’t exactly see each other often.

The fifth time Jake visits room 325A, Amy is awake. Her arm is over her eyes, trying to block out the light, but she’s alright.

“Hey, Santiago.”

“Hi, Jake,” she sighs, hiding her hands underneath the blanket.

“What happened?” He blurts. “I mean, I don’t want to push you, but I _am_ your nurse and I kind of have to know.”

Amy nods.

“Sorry,” he mutters, looking at the ground.

“I don’t mind, Nurse Peralta,” she softly jokes. “You know how the power at my apartment goes out all the time?”

“Yeah?”

Amy admits, “I was electrocuted while plugging in my phone charger.”

“Are you okay?!” Jake immediately steps forward, concernedly reaching for her chart and flipping through it within seconds. By now, on his sixth or seventh trip up to her room, the hospital's updated her records. “They ran an EKG, you have _burns_ on your hands, and someone did CPR on you. Take this seriously, Ames.”

“I’m fine, Jake,” Amy dismisses. “Very rarely can electrocution cause heart problems! They were just checking to be safe. My burns are only first-degree, and they’re small.”

“Please tell me you’re moving out of that place.” Jake sits down on Amy’s bed, looking over at her.

“I can’t do that!” Amy protests. “My rent’s already high as it is, and I have _thousands_ of dollars to pay in medical bills now. My neighbor heard me scream, and she called an ambulance. They charge hundreds per minute.”

“Fucking U.S. healthcare system,” Jake curses. “Don’t you have medical benefits from the hospital?”

“It doesn’t cover everything,” Amy mumbles. “Even though I work here, I’m still a patient, too.”

“What if you moved in with me?” Jake offers.

“I can’t put you out like that.”

“I offered to do it! You’re my best friend, and you just got hurt.” Jake rebuts. “Besides, I’d save money on rent if you were my roommate.”

“Okay,” Amy begrudgingly agrees. “I’ll move in once I’m out of the hospital. When is that, anyway?”

Jake flips a couple pages in Santiago’s chart. “If everything goes well, you can leave tomorrow. You can start working again right away, too. And, I know you’re too embarrassed to ask, but …”

 _“What?”_ Amy demands, a scowl on her face.

“You can have light, non-strenuous sex as soon as you leave the hospital.”

“Oh, shut up,” she grumbles.

“Make sure you stretch before and after! And, if you don’t already, use protection,” Jake advises.

Amy rolls her eyes. “I’m a full-time nurse, I already _know_ about safe sex. Also, if you haven’t noticed, I’m single.”

“Just checking, Santiago.” Jake grins and heads for the door. “Well, I have to go. I keep getting paged about kidney girl.”

“Bye, Jake,” Amy says, waving. “Thanks for stopping by. I’ll, uh, text you?”

“Sounds good.”

Once Jake leaves, Amy sighs, embarrassed he even saw her in this state. She’s wearing a paper-thin hospital gown. Her clothes were cut off in the ambulance, never to be seen again. Day-old makeup is smudged around her eyes. Matted, unbrushed hair falls over her shoulders. Looking down at her hands, red burns mar her skin.

Amy misses scrubs and tennis shoes. It seems working at the hospital, instead of occupying one of its rooms, was ages ago. Her phone is lying under her pillow, and it beeps loudly.

* * *

_[messages: 1:30 PM, today]_

__**jake mcclane:** are u feeling ok??  
**jake mcclane:** ill check in after like an hour but i was just wondering  
**jake mcclane:** drink lots of water!!  
**jake mcclane:** also never return to ur terrible apartment ;) 

**santiaghost:** yeah im fine!!  
**santiaghost:** thanks for checking in :)))  
**santiaghost:** i hate being a patient but at least your my nurse 

**jake mcclane:** **you’re 

**santiaghost:** i hate you, peralta 

* * *

Jake returns to Amy’s room after precisely sixty-four minutes. He softly knocks and she yells, “Please come in!”

It’s been an exhaustive hour and four minutes without his company.

After texting Jake, Amy puts her phone away to save battery 一 the whole reason she was electrocuted at her apartment was because power surged through her phone charger. Her poor iPhone has a whopping 21% battery percentage.

“Your parents just called the hospital,” Jake says as soon as he enters. “They’re driving in to see you.”

“Oh, no,” Amy mutters, running her fingers through her messy hair and looking at her watch. “I bet they arrive within an hour, and they have at least one of my brothers with them.”

“I’ll take that action.”

“No, Jake, it wasn’t a serious bet-”

“You said you needed money for your bills, and you know your family like no one else,” Jake argues.

“Whatever. Fine, we each put twenty bucks in for the two claims. If both come true, I get all forty. If one comes true but the other doesn’t, the money goes back to the rightful owners. If neither are true, you get all of the money.”

“Dang,” Jake remarks. “This is a really … calculated bet.”

“I need the money!” Amy protests. “Besides, you’re the one who’s always saying nobody uses the stuff they learn in grade school.”

“This is basic addition, Ames. I’m just saying nobody uses trigonometry or Newtonian mechanics.”

“It’s _statistics!”_

“If you say so,” Jake retorts. “You can’t show your work, can you?”

“You’re so mean. Your friend was electrocuted in her apartment, and you don’t have the heart to be nice to her.”

Jake protests, “I’m practically giving you twenty bucks in this bet!”

“I know you’re broke, too. How about this? We eliminate this faulty bet and start a new one,” Amy offers.

Jake shrugs. “Go on.”

“I bet an even amount of Santiagos comes to visit me. I don’t count, of course. So I lose if an _odd_ amount of family members come.”

“Sounds good,” Jake agrees. “People are counted from now until when you check out?”

“Yep.” Amy reaches forward to shake Jake’s hand. “How about the winner gets … thirty dollars.”

“You have a deal, Santiago.”

* * *

After placing their bet, Jake and Amy guess which of the Santiago brothers will come. As Jake sits on the edge of the hospital bed, Amy tells him about all seven of her siblings. She explains the acronym she made up as a kid and he calls her a dork, but Amy laughs all the same.

They’re interrupted when Victor and Claudia Santiago come running into room 325A, still breathless from running up the stairs.

“Amy, we’re so glad you’re alright,” her mother says, winded. “You _are_ moving out, right?”

“If you think that you’re going to stay another minute in that apartment of yours...” Victor threatens, shaking a finger.

“Don’t worry,” Amy coaxes, sitting in bed and calm as can be. “You remember Jake, right?”

Jake limply waves from the bedside.

Amy’s parents walk closer to him, smiling.

“Of course we do!” Victor says. “Thank you so much for taking care of Amy. You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“Actually, I do,” Jake corrects. “Legally, I’m Amy’s nurse, and I’m supposed to brief you two about her condition.”

“Her condition?” Claudia Santiago repeats, dumbfounded. “Is there bad news?”

Amy remains speechless, looking over at her mother’s worried face.

“No, no,” Jake hurriedly explains. “Amy’s going to be just fine. They checked her heart with a scan, and she can check out tomorrow.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” her father replies. “We’re so grateful our Amy had a caretaker like you when she was in danger.”

“Anyway, as I was saying, I’m moving in with Jake after I get out of the hospital! We can carpool to work, save money on rent, and _hopefully_ avoid electrocution in the future,” Amy explains.

“What a relief.” Claudia strokes her daughter’s cheek and brushes a stray curl of hair out of her face. “Thank you so much, Jake.”

Victor beckons a visitor in upon hearing a simple knock. Three Santiago brothers rush over the threshold and into room 325A.

“Amy, are you alright?”

“We heard there was something wrong with your apartment-”

“Tell me she’s going to be alright, doctor!”

Amy dismisses them with a wave of her hand. “I’m _fine._ They ran an EKG on me and it came back clean.”

They breathe a sigh of relief.

“Anyway, this isn’t my doctor,” Amy chides.

“Jake Peralta.” Jake greets. “I’m Amy’s nurse 一 and, furthermore, I’m her friend. Please tell me embarrassing stories about teenage Amy; she won’t budge!”

“Glad to meet you, Jake. I'm Manny,” Amy’s brother says, extending his right hand with a smile. “Have I got the story for you-”

“Don’t you dare tell him anything,” Amy warns. “Or else _I’ll_ tell Mom and Dad about spring break 2014.”

Manny smirks and crosses his arms. “Joke’s on you, sis. They already know.”

“Looks like you’re out of ammunition, Santiago,” Jake remarks. At the mention of their surname, all six Santiagos turn to face Jake.

“Sorry it doesn’t work as well when we’re all together.” Another brother laughs. “Nice to meet you, Jake. I’m Luis, Amy’s _other_ older brother, and this here is Vic. He’s our oldest brother.”

“Is anyone else coming?” Jake inquires. “Amy and I have a bet going about how many Santiagos visit her in the hospital.”

“Is that so?” Vic asks, stepping forward. “How’s that work?”

“If an odd amount of Santiagos comes to visit Amy in the hospital, I win thirty bucks from your sister. Vice versa if an even amount comes,” Jake says. “I’m really crossing my fingers on this one.”

“Can I put money on that?” Amy’s family chimes in.

“No!” Amy protests. “I know you guys love betting, but you’re too involved in this one! One text message or phone call, and the odds shift at once.”

“Ha! Odds, ‘cause the bet is about odd and even amounts,” Manny points out. Luis puts an arm around his shoulder and mutters, “At least you tried, buddy,” when nobody laughs.

* * *

“Sorry to interrupt,” Nurse Teddy Wells says as he opens the door, “but you’re making an awful lot of noise. Aren’t visiting hours over, anyhow? On my watch, you’ve been in for twelve minutes, but family’s only allowed ten minutes. Hospital policy.”

“Thanks, Teddy. They’ll be right out,” Jake feigns sincerity. Once the door slams shut, he gossips about Nurse Wells (“his favorite app on his phone is _contacts!”_ ) and bids the Santiago family goodbye.

“Thank you so much for visiting, everyone.” Amy hugs her parents and brothers gently, still sore from the accident. “I’ll be out of the hospital tomorrow, and I’ll text you then. I love you guys.”

Jake shakes everyone’s hands and says, “It was great to meet you! Amy always talks about you-”

“Hopefully good things,” Claudia jokes.

“-and it’s nice to put a face with the name.”

The door shuts with a click, and Jake hears Teddy _tsk_ at the Santiagos on their way out. “Can you believe him, Ames?”

“He’s not the nicest,” she frowns. “At least _my_ nurse is a lot better than he is.”

“Aw, Santiago, you don’t have to say that.” Jake blushes, moving away from Amy’s bed to pick up her chart. He buries his face in her medical records, attempting to conceal his hopeless grin.

First and foremost, he can’t let his best friend see how incessantly giddy one little compliment can make him. For sure, he can’t let her think anything’s up his sleeve. A nurse just _can’t_ ask out a coworker when she’s in a hospital bed, right?

Jake has to wait. To wait, he has to ensure she isn’t suspicious. Amy can’t see the way his eyes light up when she flirts (he fucking hopes it’s flirting, at least.) He’ll ride out the butterflies in his stomach; he’ll meet her face to face, one-on-one, and confess. Someday. The jury’s still out on that one.

“I mean it!” she insists. “You’re a good nurse. You know how to care for people, how to cheer them up just when they need it. Sympathy and humor just sort of _work together_ in your case, ‘cause you know when to use each of them. You understand, right?”

Her dimple shows when she’s enthusiastic, Jake notes, and his heart flutters just a little more with that observation.

“I do now,” he murmurs, sitting down on the bed. Amy’s wearing nothing but a ratty blue hospital gown, her winged eyeliner smudged and her hair unwashed, but Jake can’t _not_ want to kiss her when she grins up at him just so.

Jake leans in a couple inches, pretending he’s doing so to readjust her pillows. Amy sits up in bed, tucking hair behind her ears with two hands, and curses.

“What’s wrong?” Jake tenses, pulling away from Amy’s face at once. “Did I do something?”

“No, it’s not you,” Amy explains. “I hate these stupid hospital gowns. The top always unknots, and I can’t tie it behind my back. Could you help?”

“Y-yeah,” Jake stutters. “I’m your nurse, right? It’s my job.” 

Amy turns, pulling all her hair to one side, and lets Jake fiddle with the flimsy bow. Gulping, he notices he can see the back of her bra (white lace, not that he should care) and moves to tie the gown.

He's never been more careful in his life. Jake’s fingers shake as he tries not to brush against Amy’s back 一 it’s not _his_ fault that the dumb gowns are so thin and the bows are so far apart 一 and the two strings keep slipping out of his fingers. On the third try, Jake finally succeeds and lets out a sigh of relief. “Done.”

“Thanks, Jake,” Amy responds, softly hugging him. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Ames.”

They pull apart after a moment, faces so close she can smell his aftershave.

 _Here goes nothing,_ Jake thinks, taking a deep breath and bracing himself for rejection. If he doesn’t ask now, he’ll hate himself forever for not taking the chance. She’s a patient, but only until tomorrow. The moment couldn’t be more _right._

A few seconds creep by, so slow time must have stopped or the world must be ending. Agonizingly, Jake’s heartbeat accelerates and he grins gently at Amy.

“Hey, I was wondering, could we-” he begins, before being interrupted.

Time is pulled apart once again, slow-motion stress panning out and playing with his mind, as everything goes to waste. The entire, intricate moment falls apart.

* * *

Amy stifles a giggle.

Either her medication’s kicking in, or she’s just in the mood to joke. “That kind of tickles. Are you _vibrating?_ ”

“That’s my pager, sorry,” Jake excuses himself, face flaming. “It’s attached to my belt. It’s not, uh, any other vibrating device. Just to be clear.”

“Got it,” Amy smirks, laughing. “Just, y’know, when a guy’s waist area starts _buzzing,_ you kind of assume something’s up.”

“Shut _up!”_

“Well, is it anything important?”

“Yeah,” Jake groans, running his fingers through his hair. “You know the flu going around? A woman was brought in for dehydration, and her whole family came to visit. Turns out _they_ got sick too.”

“Oh, that’s awful!” Amy winces. “I hope everything’s alright.”

“It’s just the flu. They’re probably fine.”

Amy nods. “Well, I’m glad you’re so sure of yourself, mister big-shot nurse-mistaken-for-a-doctor. Before you go, what were you saying before your pager beeped?”

“Oh, uh, it was nothing. I was wondering if we could, um, um 一 oh, great, I forgot it.”

Pretending to have forgotten is _much_ less humiliating than admitting a vibrating pager ruined his plans to ask her out.

“Was it about moving day? ‘Cause I was thinking about that, too,” Amy offers, brushing stray hairs out of her face.

“Yes!” Jake clings to Amy’s suggestion desperately. “But we can text about that later. I have flu patients to attend to, Amy! Flu patients!”

With that, he sets her chart back down and runs out of the room. The door shuts thunderously and Teddy yells ‘no running!’, but Amy can only hear the rush in Jake’s footsteps as he makes his way to the C hall.

 _It’s really too bad he had to leave,_ Amy thinks. She was just getting up the nerve to kiss him.


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You look awfully tired,” Amy says at lunch, neatly placing her barren lunch tray on the cafeteria table and sitting down. “Well, to be specific, you look awful _and_ tired.”

“Rise and shine, Ames! Up and at ‘em!” Jake calls, stepping into hospital room 325A and noisily drawing its jaundiced curtains back.

Amy Santiago further buries her head under the covers, emitting a disgusted groan. She’s grimacing, hands gripping the blankets to shield her from the light, burns evident on her thin fingers. “I am neither _up_ nor _at them,”_ she snaps, slowly becoming louder. “I barely got any sleep last night, because these hospital sheets are so thin I was freezing. Please, I am _not_ in the mood to deal with people today.”

“In that case, I’m _really_ sorry for what’s about to happen-” Jake stammers, his face contorted into a nervous smile as he reaches for the brass doorknob and two people rush into the room. His knees lock in defense, a childhood habit he never quite forgot, while he skitters away from Amy’s bedside.

Of course, today of all days, this would happen. Jake Peralta would be an attending nurse to Philip Santiago and his pregnant wife Jasmine, and would be so keen as to ask if they were related to _the_ Amy Santiago. At the time, the plan seemed so sensible, so simple. He was naive enough to assume nothing could possibly go wrong.

“Amelia!” Philip greets, walking hand in hand with his wife. “I was just here for a prenatal appointment with Jasmine, and our nurse asked if we were related to you. It’s so good to see you, sis!”

Amy, clearly startled, stifles a yawn before speaking. Her baser, people-pleasing instincts kick in, pulling her together just in time to greet family. She’s always been a teacher’s pet, and the same logic often applies to her (many) relatives. “Wow, it’s, uh, so good to see you and Jasmine, too!”

“It’s been so long, Ames!” Jasmine exclaims, one hand over her baby bump and the other on her hip. “And all thanks to our wonderful nurse.”

Jake blushes, looking up at the three Santiagos in the room. “Really, it’s no problem. I just recognized the surname and figured I’d try it out. I mean, I’m Amy’s nurse, and I was yours as well. It was a long shot, but I figured, why not?”

“Everything going well with Amy?” Philip asks, absentmindedly fiddling with a bracelet around his wrist while he talks. “I read the texts Manny sent in the group chat, but it always helps to be here in person.”

“Yeah, she’s doing fine!” Jake confirms, looking up at Philip while taking on his oh-so-familiar work persona.

Nurse Peralta is happier and more social than Jake would ever realistically be. It’s the only way he can handle the hospital’s constant rush of patients, the bitter ones all arriving with the same set of complaints and condescension. “Amy was electrocuted plugging in her phone charger, but a scan of her heart came back clear, so she can check out in a couple minutes.”

Amy’s eyes widen, her heartbeat racing. Her purse is halfway across the room, iPhone dead under her pillow. Nothing makes sense; she resorts to blaming herself 一 her favorite defense mechanism. “That soon? I don’t have anywhere to go!”

“Relax,” Jake chides, smiling ever so simply at Amy. She freezes in place, already halfway out of the hospital bed, reaching for her handbag. “Your apartment’s so neat, I packed up pretty easily. I used the spare key you gave me, along with my emergency credit card, to rent a moving truck and hire some movers.” For once, this spur-of-the-moment surprise seems to be right on schedule. Inviting Philip and Jasmine in might not have been the greatest plan, but the ploy to share an apartment with Amy is currently working like a well-oiled machine.

Philip grins. “Sorry to pry, but are you two together?”

“No! ‘Course not!” Amy blurts, heart racing, unable to tell if her hands are shaking. Was she _that_ obvious?

Philip and Jasmine’s eyes dart around the room, going first to Jake, then Amy, and finally each other. The hospital room quiets until Teddy and Gina can be heard shouting in the hallway, arguing over the last clean pillowcase.

“We, uh, we 一 your sister and I, we 一 we’re just moving in together because of Amy’s accident,” Jake graciously explains after a prolonged moment of pause. “We’re just friends.”

“Our mistake,” Jasmine clarifies, smiling and trying to mend the lapse in their conversation. “We just assumed, since you seem so close and you’re packing up Amy’s apartment, that you two were dating.”

Amy plays with the hair ties around her wrist, trying to make up something to say. She doesn’t exactly know Jasmine well, though they’re sisters-in-law. “Well, we’re not,” she plainly replies, almost shrugging this off too easily. “Just friends and coworkers. Um, everything go well with the OB-GYN?”

“Yeah, everything’s right on schedule!” Philip answers, silently intertwining his fingers with his wife’s. “Dr. Montgomery did an ultrasound today.”

From across the room, Jake’s eyebrows raise. He mouths ‘the baby counts as another person for our bet, right?’ Frowning, Amy quickly makes up her mind and nods back.

“Oh, that’s so great!” Amy cheers, beckoning Jasmine and Philip to the hospital bed for a hug. “You two excited for your first baby? I know Mom’s really eager to have yet _another_ grandchild.”

Rummaging through her purse and pulling out a crisp, white envelope, Jasmine opens it and hands a sonogram image to Amy. “You see that kidney-bean-looking thing in the upper left? And the matching shape a little to the right of it?”

“No, you’re kidding!” Amy laughs, peering closer and squinting at the picture. “Please don’t tell me Dad was right-”

Philip chuckles, tapping on the photo twice to point out each baby present. “Sorry to say it, sis, but he always predicts correctly. We’re having twins, just like he said! Guess this messes with your bet, doesn’t it, Jake? Ames?”

“Who told you?” Jake laughs, mentally cheering because he _won,_ he defeated Amy Santiago in a bet, with all her bragging about statistical analysis (“haven’t you ever seen Moneyball? It’s Chief Physician Holt’s favorite film! Do the math and it’ll make your wagers work _for_ you.”)

“Manny accidentally let something slip in the group chat,” Philip admits. 

Amy crosses her arms, smiling and trying to stifle a yawn (it works.) “Typical Manny. I guess you win, Peralta. Hand me my purse and I’ll get you the thirty bucks you’re due.” She pulls a thick wad of bills out of her wallet once her purse is on the bed, pretending to laboriously count all her money.

“Where’d you get all that cash, Amy?” Jasmine laughs. “Don’t tell me you have another job somewhere.”

“They’re all one-dollar bills,” Amy clarifies. “For the-”

“Strip club?” Jake suggests, earning him a slap from Amy.

“Hospital vending machine, idiot. Do you want the money or not?”

“Yes, please. This is some _serious_ cash. Imagine all the candy bars and chips I can buy!”

Although Amy chides him about his dietary options, given that he literally sees the effects of poor nutrition daily on the job, she forks over a thick stack of dollars. She may be tired, cranky, and burdened by medical bills, but she certainly isn’t someone to go against her word.

* * *

“Remind me why I have to wear this?” Amy frowns, picking at a ketchup stain on Jake’s oversized scrubs while waiting at the front desk. His shirt practically falls to her kneecaps, and it takes several tries to roll up the pant legs so that she doesn’t trip on her way out of the hospital.

The only spare outfit she could find was a crumpled ball of clothes in Jake’s work locker (“I am _not_ scrambling through the lost-and-found, Jake!”), so Amy begrudgingly had to check out of Brooklyn City Hospital wearing wrinkled work clothes.

“Would you rather wear that ratty hospital gown?” he retorts. “You’re just lucky I had some extra clothes here at work.”

“It’s your fault for not bringing me a spare outfit! You packed my apartment up, would it have been _so_ hard?”

“Listen, I’m not a professional mover! I’m a nurse, if you haven’t noticed! I was _your_ nurse, remember? The only thing I’m responsible for is keeping your vitals up and making sure you check out of the hospital.”

“That’s two things!”

“Stop correcting my grammar, Santiago! You got the gist, didn’t you? That’s what language is about! Getting the point across, not being a perfect little angel and checking every sentence you see for errors.”

Gina saunters up to the front desk, as silent as she is snarky. Propping her head up on one hand and making a trademark smirk, she mutters, “Get a room, you two, before you drive everyone waiting here away with your mindless bickering.” She leaves as soon as she arrived, carrying an armful of files while checking her cell phone. Jake hears her voice fade into distance as she runs ahead, trying to catch hold of Rosa for one last kiss before they call Dr. Diaz in for her twelve-o’clock heart transplant.

“You got that right,” the man at the front desk calls, quickly turning his face toward Amy and immediately handing her a clipboard. She unsuccessfully fumbles with it before it clatters down onto the sanitized hospital counter. “Fill this out, have it back in three minutes or less. G’bye.”

Jake nearly stutters out an offended complaint, but his eyes gloss over the man’s silver name tag, magnetically attached to the collar of his shirt. _S. Dozerman,_ the label reads. Amy looks toward Jake, grabbing his arm without a moment’s notice. Her shock is well-masked, a gasp cautiously stifled behind her hand. 

He tries his hardest to not lean into Amy or, worse yet, whisper the latest gossip into her ear. _Leaning and whispering are for people who actually have the courage to tell each other how they feel,_ Jake reminds himself. They settle on a nonverbal conversation, fully comprehending what the other is implying with a simple eyebrow raise or rapid glance. Dozerman’s worked at Brooklyn City Hospital for all of two weeks, yet he’s already garnered a reputation for his perpetually no-nonsense attitude.

“Ready, set, go.” Dozerman simply averts his gaze from Jake and Amy, looking down at the electric timer clutched in his hand. “180 seconds, 179, 178...”

Jake’s stomach churns at the thought of how influential, how _toxic_ people like Dozerman can be to worker bees like Amy. Amy darts away from the front desk, hurriedly removing a ballpoint pen from her purse and uncapping it. She and Jake find two vacant seats, trying their hardest not to think about who sat there last. 

She writes slower than she usually would. Her normally neat, detailed handwriting is distorted, the aftershocks of her accident. It's almost as if she's burnt out (pun not intended.) Jake shies away until Amy guiltily taps him on the shoulder, offering him the pen and worn clipboard. “Can you help me out with this? I don’t know what’s _wrong_ with me 一 I mean, I’m a nurse, I get that I’m perfectly fine, but … I just don’t feel perfect. I don’t even believe I’ve made it to _fine.”_

Jake wordlessly agrees, taking Amy’s precious pen and clipboard into his own hands. Glancing over his shoulder, he spots Dozerman menacingly mouthing ‘three, two, one’ while glaring at an elderly woman with an oxygen tank. “Ridiculous,” he mutters, proceeding to fill out Amy’s release forms. He makes a mental note to steal Dozerman’s timer sometime.

Legally speaking, he really shouldn’t do this. A nurse can’t fill out forms for a patient, especially if said nurse has terrible handwriting (no wonder people always mistake him for a doctor) and an even more terrible crush on the aforementioned patient. He doesn't dare stop, though. Amy is taking deep, slow breaths in the seat next to his, color returning to her cheeks with every passing second Jake spends writing.

When Jake gets to allergies, scrawling ‘dogs’ onto the tiny space allotted in the release contract, Amy sleepily lowers her head onto his shoulder. He tenses, desperately hoping he doesn’t let her down 一 pun intended this time. One mistake on these forms and they’ll be dealing with insurance firms and hospital phone calls for a month. One sudden movement, and her eyes will flutter open as her burnt hands fidget for something productive to do.

Biting his tongue, Jake sets the pen down and double-triple-quadruple checks Amy’s paperwork. Yep, both he and Kylie are her emergency contacts. Brown hair, brown eyes, everything's good. Jake's handwriting looks pretty neat; for once, he can actually tell the difference between some of his letters. Shuddering, Jake flashes back to nursing orientation, in which ‘Amg Santiayo’ showed up for work. She had a hellish time trying to scan her badge at the door. This is the first time he’s done paperwork for Amy, or should he say ‘Amg’, since then.

“Hey!” Dozerman barks from the front desk, pointing to his watch and then holding up the godforsaken timer. “Done yet?”

Shrugging Amy off of his shoulder and gently waking her, Jake turns the paperwork in without a word. Dozerman errantly flips through the pages and mutters, “You’re free to leave.”

“C’mon, Ames, we have an apartment to unpack,” Jake calls, chasing the elevator that just opened.

Amy frowns (it’s unfair how cute she looks when frowning, Jake realizes) and yawns (she looks even cuter!! she's wearing his _clothes!!)_ “Don’t you have work? You know, right here, right now?”

“I took a half-day. Hurry up, Amy, it’s closing!”

Somehow, whether unconsciously or not, Jake extends a hand behind him while rushing to catch the elevator. Amy takes it, clutching ever tighter once she steps in. 

“Geez, Ames, your skin feels like ice,” he mumbles, holding on nonetheless and pushing the button for the first floor. Amy’s claustrophobia doesn’t make her the calmest person to have around in an elevator, especially with her accident and all.

She holds his hand all the way to the parking lot, only separating when they each get into their cars. Realistically, Jake knows half a million reasons she could hold on. Just this time, though, he pushes away all thoughts of Amy’s possible reactions to stress and exhaustion and the cold (what, does she have medically diagnosed thin skin like Boyle?) Recalling how she laughs and calls him ‘love' when he walks her to her car, Jake can’t help but blush all the way home. _Their_ home, to be specific.

Jake wipes sweat from his forehead as he steps out of his car and into the parking garage, suddenly feeling as if his face is on fire. His ears redden as Amy slams her car door shut and happily chats about her seven-point plan to revolutionize Jake’s apartment, beginning with her secret recipe for laundry detergent.

When they get out into the elevator, Amy reaches for Jake’s hand. His heart flutters all over again, butterflies causing chaos in his stomach. He’s far too smitten over her, he acknowledges, but he can’t _do_ anything about it. Falling out of love with Amy Santiago will prove to be a much more difficult task than the reverse was. Honestly, Jake isn’t even sure he wants to try.

* * *

Despite all her complaints, Amy doesn’t change out of his oversized scrubs as they unpack. They’re really rather nice, aside from the ketchup stain. Anyway, they smell like Jake 一 aftershave, hospital coffee, lemony Bath & Body Works hand sanitizer, and sharp spearmint gum 一 and it’s comforting to have that scent wherever she goes. How lovesick, Amy points out to herself. How _oblivious_ he must be to her. Either Jake doesn’t notice or he doesn’t care, but Amy keeps his scrubs on. He opens one cardboard box after the other, having neglected to label them.

“Diaries, coasters, doilies, how-to books, and … school yearbooks in this one!” Amy shouts. “How did all of these end up in one place, anyway?”

“I was trying to fit as much stuff in each box as possible, so some leftovers from each room made it into the et cetera boxes,” Jake explains.

“At least we’ve made it to et cetera.”

“Thank goodness. You wanna take a break to celebrate?” Jake’s almost out of breath and not exactly sure why. Amy’s coasters and doilies don’t exactly qualify as heavy lifting, yet his chest feels tight.

“Yeah, that sounds good. You wanna see my yearbooks?” Amy grins, trying to hide her bashfulness with a split-second decision. Reaching for et cetera box number one, she pulls out first grade and pages through until she finds Ms. Kagan’s class.

Pointing at a little girl with pigtails halfway down the page, Jake incredulously asks, “That’s _you?”_

“Yeah,” Amy confirms. “I picked those purple glasses out myself. Didn’t get contact lenses until tenth grade.”

“Aw, you’re so cute,” Jake laughs, crossing his arms and looking over Amy’s shoulder. “Look at your crooked little grin.”

“Don’t remind me. I had braces for three years.”

“I already _know,_ Amy. I’ve seen you wear your retainer during all your night shifts. Your brothers told me about the time you broke a bracket eating vanilla ice cream.”

Amy laughs into her hand, reaching for the rest of the yearbooks.”You should’ve seen me. I was _infuriated._ My brothers all ate gummy worms and candied apples without any problem, and I had to go back to the orthodontist because I had an ice-cream cone.”

“You poor thing, no wonder you insist on wearing that retainer even if it gives you a lisp.”

“That’s also why I hate vanilla ice cream.”

Jake rolls his eyes. _“Everyone_ hates vanilla. You’re not special.”

“Yeah, says the guy who claims eating coffee-flavored ice cream makes him part of high society,” Amy mutters.

* * *

“Oh my god, I think we’re done,” Jake gasps, looking around at the furnished apartment he now shares with Amy.

“Finally,” Amy remarks, walking around the kitchen and dusting off the tops of his cabinets. “I’m telling you, we shouldn’t have taken that long on a break. Who knew there were twenty-two et cetera boxes?”

Jake laughs. “It was worth staying up, I’m telling you. I got to see teenage Amy Santiago!”

“Bangs and all,” Amy murmurs. “Hey, uh, I’m going to turn in for bed. It’s late, and I have to get up early tomorrow for work.”

“You’re going to work?”

“You thought I wasn’t? I mean, it was _you_ who cleared me to leave the hospital, right?”

“Y-yeah,” Jake stutters out. “Sorry, I’m not … in a good headspace. I’ve been awake for, um, almost fifteen hours, so I’ll just … go.”

Frowning, Amy reaches forward and puts her hand over Jake’s forehead. “Are you alright? You look pretty bad. You know, you’re all hot.”

“Well, Ames, I’m getting a lot of mixed signals,” Jake jokes, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Am I pretty bad or am I hot? Just pick one.”

“I’m being serious, you dork. You probably have a fever.”

“No, no, I _can’t_ be sick … I bet your system’s just flawed. Your hands are so cold, of course you think I’m feverish.”

Amy rolls her eyes. “You know, thermometers do exist. You probably contracted something from that family with the flu at the hospital.”

“Conspiracies,” Jake mumbles, his voice raising and quickening the longer he speaks. “Well, I better go to bed now. Goodnight!”

With that, he runs off, slamming the bathroom door and noisily having a coughing fit once he’s out of Amy’s sight. Jake is in and out of the restroom without another word, Amy grinning when she hears him stumble into a dresser and curse it out. She steps into the bathroom after Jake’s gone, seeing her electric toothbrush and peach lotion neatly stacked on the counter.

Amy knows she shouldn’t stay awake a minute longer than she should, but she stays awake an extra half-hour and rummages around the newly furnished room for her diary.

Time to update it on her (somewhat nonexistent) love life.

* * *

“Rise and shine!” Amy calls, knocking on Jake’s bedroom door and smiling as obnoxiously as she can. “Up and at ‘em, Peralta!”

She woke up an hour early just to get on his nerves. Already dressed in her nicest scrubs (no more ketchup stain!) and favorite tennis shoes, Amy is excited to exact her revenge until Jake answers the door.

“Morning, Santiago,” he mutters, eyes only half-open and face pale with exhaustion. “I’m glad to see you so … happly.”

“Happy?” Amy corrects.

“Yeah, yeah, what you said.” Jake dismisses her with a wave of his hand and trudges off to the restroom. He emerges a few minutes later, looking much more proper in clean scrubs and sneakers, and is practically back to normal upon adding three shots of espresso to his morning coffee.

Despite everything, Amy insists on driving to work herself. Jake brings a box of tissues with him to the car, she sees, and spends half the trip there blowing his nose. They separate once they enter, Charles offering directions as usual before walking off to work in the pediatric wing.

“Who do you have?” Amy asks, a part of her routine. “Okay, dry drowning, a check-up on a broken arm, that woman who got everyone sick with flu… pretty much the usual.”

“Same,” Jake remarks, exceptionally glad the coffee kicked in. “Woman with a sprained ankle, a case of unexplained hives, and some of that family with the flu from yesterday. Looks like they’ve gotten more people sick, from the looks of it.” He points to Dr. Jeffords, handing out face masks to everyone he sees. It’s protocol for surgeons to wear them, but other physicians usually go without. Amy takes two, handing one to Jake, and reminds herself to write ‘face masks’ on her grocery list.

“Alright, see you at lunch!” she says, waving goodbye to Jake and walking off toward the stairwell. Room 113B holds a six-year-old girl who needs an x-ray on her lungs to make sure they’re alright.

“We forgot lunch, didn’t we?” Jake realizes.

“Well, see you in the lunch _line,”_ Amy grumbles.

* * *

The family who came in with the flu 一 the Gundersons, to be specific 一 have practically become celebrities at Brooklyn City, their surname used as slang to indicate another case of influenza. Jake spends half his day caring after them, every visit more fatiguing than the rest. The caffeine is wearing off and more patients are checking in, so he has no choice but to run to the vending machine in between visits.

_(“Tell me again why I’m in the hospital for having the flu?” Chad remarks as Jake enters the room._

_“Your wife was taken in for dehydration, sir, and your family was subsequently taken in for the same illness. This strain isn’t very common, so the hospital just wants to be on the safe side.”_

_“Are you saying I’m a rare case?”_

_“Well, not exactly-”_

_“So I’m just an ordinary case to you?!”)_

“What is that, your fifth Starbucks frap?” Teddy comments, waiting for the drink machine to deliver him a V8, his second favorite drink behind pilsners. “Maybe if you went to bed earlier and got a full eight hours, this wouldn’t happen.”

“Wells, please, I haven’t gotten eight hours’ sleep since I was an infant. Besides, it’s only my _third,”_ Jake shoots back, not in the mood to argue with anyone as uptight as Teddy. His head spins as he downs the coffee, drinking half the bottle.

“Good luck working when you have to use the bathroom every five minutes, Peralta.” With that, Teddy leaves.

For a split second, Jake thinks he hears Teddy mumble something about Amy, but he accredits that to the coffee. Already this morning, he’s mixed up ‘organism’ with ‘orgasm’, leading to one very uncomfortable encounter with a teenage boy who’d been bitten by a ferret and needed rabies shots.

Besides the obvious matter of the caffeine making its way through his bloodstream, Jake just _knows_ he has Amy on his mind. It’s why, on his way to see the Gundersons, he stops by room 325A and wishes, more than anything, he asked her out yesterday.

If he had, he wouldn’t have to spend all his time trying to conjure up ways to do so later.

* * *

“You look awfully tired,” Amy says at lunch, neatly placing her barren lunch tray on the cafeteria table and sitting down. “Well, to be specific, you look awful _and_ tired.”

“Gee, thanks a lot. Love you too, Ames,” Jake grumbles, looking around for Gina, Charles, and Rosa. It wouldn’t hurt to have some company to diffuse this situation, especially after he just mentioned he loves Amy. “I’m gonna go buy s’more coffee.”

 _“Again?”_ Amy asks, a look of disgust on her face. “Haven’t you had, like, five at this point?”

“Why does everybody ask that?”

“Maybe because they’re right?” Amy scoffs. “Anyway, who else has noticed you’re developing a caffeine addiction?”

“Teddy,” Jake says, practically spitting the name, using the bitterness and sarcasm he would use to say ‘Hans Gruber’ or ‘William Atherton.’ “Saw him at the healthy drinks machine, getting himself a V8 and remarking that I should get eight hours of sleep a night. As if!”

“Oh, as if his advice isn’t half bad? As if it’s the topic of hundreds, if not thousands, of medical studies proving people really do need to spend more time sleeping?”

“Are you-” Jake stutters, “are you _taking his side?”_

“It’s not about him as a person,” Amy dismisses. “Just, you know, as a nurse, I’m inclined to agree.”

“Looks like _someone_ doesn’t want coffee.”

“We already established that!”

“Whatever,” Jake pouts, storming off. “I’m going to the vending machine whether you want me to or not.”

On the way down D wing, Jake spots Teddy walking up ahead of him. He certainly doesn’t want to go back to the lunch table to conflict more with Amy, though, so he skips lunch altogether and gets a head start on his shifts. Stop one, the Gundersons, beginning with their daughter Helen in room 665B.

* * *

“Marie, I need a new ivy!”

“For the last time, Dad, it’s pronounced _IV._ End of discussion.”

As soon as he opens the door, Jake walks right into a sevenfold dispute. Between Chad and Marie Gunderson, their young son, an eccentric pair of aunts (“yes, mister nurse, we _are_ married! I’m Camilla, and this is my wife Helen”), and two crotchety grandfathers from either side of the family tree, the room is packed.

To think, he was trying to _escape_ argumentation and the risk of contagion. Life sure does love a good, strong, possibly lethal dose of irony.

“Um, literally _everyone_ but Aunt Helen, you’re not supposed to be in here,” he explains, mentally bracing for fever-fueled, familial backlash.

“She’s my wife!” Camilla protests. “Are you saying I’m not allowed near her?”

“Ma’am, it’s not your marital status that’s the matter. You’re a patient who’s in the wrong room. According to this chart-” Jake pauses for several seconds, taking out Helen Gunderson’s chart and flipping through, trying to find a list of patients, rooms, and nurses.

His stomach drops when he realizes it doesn’t exist, but he doesn’t dare inform the family.

“Well, are you a doctor or not?” Chad Gunderson, Helen’s brother, demands.

“I’m not a doctor at all. I’m your nurse,” Jake clarifies.

Marie Gunderson’s face contorts. “No, you’re not! My nurse is a woman! She’s Mexican … or Brazilian or, you know, one of those.”

“Your nurse is Cuban. She has a name. It’s Amy Santiago,” Jake says, locking his knees. “If you don’t know something about someone, don’t assume.”

“What happened to ‘the customer is always right?’ What happened to good, old-fashioned courtesy?” one of the grandfathers barks, straightening the visor of his red baseball cap. 

“You’re not a customer at all! I’m a nurse, not a cashier,” Jake explains, gritting his teeth. 

“Got something against cashiers?” the other grandfather, wearing a black fedora, gripes. “You can’t just walk in here, all la-dee-da, I’m a _doctor-”_

The child begins crying, a little boy aged around five to seven. Mrs. Gunderson hurriedly picks him up and kisses his forehead. Ordinarily, Jake would tell her to keep from infecting her son with the flu, but he doubts _that_ would work in a family like this.

“He’s not a doctor!” Aunt Camilla interrupts. “Remember I called him ‘mister nurse’ when he walked in? I, unlike _some of you,_ actually bothered to memorize his name. It’s Jake Peralta.”

“See, darling? Call people nicknames when you meet ‘em. Helps keep you from forgetting,” Helen chimes in, holding her wife’s hand.

“Okay. Hi, everyone! I’m a nurse to your possible family member, Helen Gunderson. Will everyone else please exit the room?” Jake asks, feigning his best smile and acting as if he’s in a commercial.

“And where should we go?” The fedora-wearing grandpa grumbles. “You think you can just walk all over us-”

“-and you can! I hate moving rooms, but I hate my daughter’s husband’s father more, so I’ll be on my way,” the grandpa with the cap completes, snarkily grinning.

“My son _married_ your daughter. You can stop calling me your 'daughter’s husband’s father' now, Bernard! You can say my name! I’m Leonard, your college roommate, remember? Marie and Chad have been married for nine years!” Fedora grandfather (no, Leonard) shouts.

“Nine long, long years,” Cap grandpa (well, Bernard, technically) snarls.

“Nine of the best years of my life, hon,” Chad chuckles.

“We’ve been married for ten years, you fool,” Mrs. Gunderson snaps.

Helen taps Jake on the shoulder from her hospital bed, smiling. It’s the first genuine smile Jake’s seen in room 665B. “Sorry about my family. They can be a little … impossible.”

“Especially Leonard. There’s a reason this hospital put him in room 666,” Camilla jokes.

“Doesn’t Brooklyn City have some sort of policy about that room number? You know, the way some buildings don’t have a thirteenth floor?” Helen asks.

“There _is_ have a policy about that, but it ruined the numbering system and the hospital didn’t want to switch all the signs over one door, so it just gave up,” Jake remarks. “I guess Leonard’s the unlucky one in the family.”

“No, the real unlucky ones are the people who have to _listen_ to Leonard and Bernard fight. You’d think we could catch a break, given that the feud began in 1969!” Helen protests.

“Speaking of bad numbers …” Jake laughs.

“Oh, don’t get the Gundersons started on that one,” Camilla groans. “I’m just lucky I married into the family. I can’t imagine how awful I’d turn out if these folks raised me.”

Cheekily elbowing her wife, Camilla laughs (it turns out happiness _hasn’t_ died in this room) and Jake decides to call some other nurses for help. “Charles? Can you come up to 665B? It’s the Gundersons. Bring Amy and Gina if you can find them.”

Helen and Camilla can hear Charles’ long whine all the way from Jake’s phone, giggling as Jake tells his best friend to chin up and get to business.

“You know, you two are really the saving grace of this family,” he murmurs, once Charles has hung up on him.

“Why, thank you, Nurse Peralta!” Helen grins. “Funny this is, they say _we’re_ the ones who ruined it, what with our strong marriage and gay-ness and all.”

“What do they know? You’re listening to two elderly men argue about something that happened in the sixties, a couple of straight people who can’t stand to work together for longer than five minutes, and a _baby.”_

“Hey, sis,” Mr. Gunderson aggressively calls. “We can hear you! Marie and I can _so_ work together for longer than five minutes.”

“You sure about that? I’m pretty sure it only took about three or four to put a bun in the oven,” Helen mutters, sending her wife into a laughing fit.

* * *

Amy’s the only nurse to show up to Helen Gunderson’s room. She arrived with some hasty excuse from Charles and an audio recording of Gina saying, “I’d rather watch my girlfriend cut into a man’s stomach with a scalpel, Ames. See ya!”

To Jake’s relief, she also came prepared with a list of all six family members’ other rooms. “Okay, so the five adults are all in the surrounding rooms, and the son is in the pediatric wing! How hard could that be?”

“Wait ‘til you meet Leonard and Bernard,” Jake says under his breath.

“Doctor! So glad you’re back.” Bernard smiles, the sarcasm in his voice sickly sweet. “Can you finally separate me from my daughter’s husband’s father? Would you just do your _job?”_

“Actually, he’s not a-”

“Don’t push it, Ames,” Jake mumbles.

“Alright, Mr. Gunderson, you’ll be in room 663B, just down the hall,” Amy says, trying her hardest to keep it together.

“Which one of us?” Leonard snaps. “I’m Leonard Gunderson, and my son Chad is also a patient.”

“Chad Gunderson, please, just step this way.” Amy walks to the door, holding it open to no avail. “Why aren’t you stepping this way?”

“You look familiar,” Chad says, stroking his chin. “Have we met before?”

“I’m your wife’s nurse, not to mention the fact that I’m _your_ nurse,” Amy replies, her stare plaintive. 

“Are you sure?” Marie frowns. “My husband and I don’t remember you. Trust me, I’m good with faces.”

“I just saw you this morning! I brought you hot towels from the first floor, remember? Then you called them boiled rags, so I took them back, and then you wanted them again so I returned to your door?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Chad responds.

Jake grins smugly. “You know, _my_ patient remembers my name. She even knows I’m a nurse!”

“You’re not special! Everyone here assumes I’m a nurse,” Amy argues.

“Well, actually, that’s because you’re a woman,” Chad buts in.

“Do you _really_ want to start this conversation, Chad, and tell me what generalizations people make about me every day?” 

Bernard interrupts, “Woah, woah, slow down, missy. Remember, the customer is always right?”

“We’ve been over this. You’re not customers!” Jake repeats, gnashing his teeth together and resisting the urge to leave the room. For goodness’ sake, the _one_ person who’s more than willing to go is the physician, whose job is to stay and guide all the other patients out. “We don’t have to satisfy your every need. I’m a nurse, not a personal caretaker. I do have other places to be, Mr. Gunderson. So does Amy, Chad and Marie's nurse. Remember her?”

“Stop speaking drivel, kid. We get it, you wanted to be a doctor and they made you a nurse instead. However, if you’re going to talk to my father, please use his name! We’re _both_ Mr. Gunderson!” Chad yells, completely disregarding Jake.

He shouldn’t have even bothered, looking down at his shoes with pitiful disgust on his face.

“There are only two of you! Chad and Bernard! The names of a teenage, converse-wearing tennis player and a WWI historian who collects antique stopwatches!” Amy retorts, eyes wild.

“That was surprisingly accurate,” Jake says, attempting to mask how impressed he is. He doesn’t see Amy angry often, and he’s reveling in every direct, almost furious word she speaks.

“Thanks, Peralta,” she whispers, _finally_ ushering the Gundersons out one by one.

“Good riddance,” says Jake, in a gravelly, low voice meant to shield his words from the Gundersons. They hear nonetheless, though Jake isn’t exactly sorry.

“You didn’t mean me, did you, love?” Camilla asks, kissing her wife goodbye before walking out the door.

“No, not you,” Jake says, grinning. “Trust me, you two are the saving grace of this family.”

“I thought so,” Helen replies. “Cam, dear, take Chad Junior to the pediatric wing, will you? I’m afraid Chad the first isn’t actually up to it. You know, on account of the flu and the, uh, blatant discrimination.”

“Will do, babe.”

On Chad Gunderson’s way out, Amy glares deeply into his eyes. If looks could kill, she’d have one less patient to worry about.

With a shaky sigh, she begins speaking.“I have worked too hard for too long, trying to make sure I’d get the respect I need, but I don’t think I’ll ever earn any from you.”

“You got that right,” he answers. “I still have a sneaking suspicion it was _another_ Mexican nurse who served me this morning.”

“I don’t need to earn any of your respect, Chad, because you don’t have any to begin with,” Amy spits. “Good riddance is right.”

“Excuse _me,_ I-”

“Get out of your perfectly lovely sister’s hospital room right now. I’d transfer you to room 666 if I could, but it seems the _other_ Mr. Gunderson is occupying it right now.” Slamming the door, the weight on Amy’s chest lifts and she exhales a breath of relief. For once, the room is empty; nothing but the patient and two nurses, having a chat instead of making stereotypical judgments.

“Aw, I’m perfectly lovely!” Helen gushes from the hospital bed. Either she’s blushing, or it’s just the fever, but she looks blissful either way. She’s probably the most cheerful hospital patient Amy’s ever had.

“You’re an angel,” Jake emphasizes. “Anyone who can grow up alongside a douche like your brother and remain so nice is a savior in my book.”

“If you need anything, and I mean _anything_ at all, feel free to have me paged,” Amy adds. “It’s the least I can do.”

Helen laughs, letting out a loud snort and reddening. “You two are the best, I swear. Thank you so much, Nurse Amy.”

“Please, call me Ames.”

“Oh, she must really like _you,”_ Jake remarks, running a hand through his hair. “She doesn’t let just anyone use that nickname.”

“You use it all the time!”

“Yeah, that’s the only way I know you love me,” Jake jokes, a secret sense of guilt seeping into his chest. What, he’s resorting to flirting with her in front of a patient, so she _has_ to go along with it because she can’t make a scene?

“There are other ways,” Amy murmurs, walking toward the door. Her smile is subtle, eyes soft and smitten. “I mean, I have to stay here to take care of Helen, but wouldn’t that have been a great exit line?”

* * *

“I bought you a coffee,” Amy offers, sliding it across the cafeteria table to Jake. “Sorry about before, with the whole Teddy-coffee-sleep thing.”

Jake cocks an eyebrow. “You don’t have to apologize, Ames. You didn’t do anything _wrong.”_

“Yeah, but you’re sick and I shouldn’t have brought it up-”

“I’m not sick!”

“-and that’s _why_ I shouldn’t have brought it up. It’s not a big deal. Look, we work in a hospital. It’s not like you have to walk around and ask if there’s a doctor in the house. Just … get yourself checked out.”

“Oh, are you gonna check me out, Santiago?” Jake winks.

“If I have to,” Amy mutters. “C’mon, go with me to one of the empty rooms.”

“Title of your sextape.”

“Come _on!”_

* * *

Amy works late that night, making up for the day she spent in the hospital. Her shift lasts until midnight, all caring for the Gundersons or various other people they infected. Last stop, room 676B.

“I brought you dinner,” she says, carrying a hospital tray to Jake’s bedside. “Red jello, chocolate milk, and a Smuckers PB&J sandwich. Sorry in advance for what you’re about to eat.”

 _“Fine,”_ Jake grumbles. “Can you bring me a coffee from the vending machine?”

“Yeah, if you’ll pay and admit that you’re sick. That’s two things.”

“Ha!” Jake points up at her. “I see what you did, putting the phrase from our old conversation into the new one ...”

“I got it. I said it first, remember? Just say you’re sick and I’ll go buy you an overpriced frappucino,” Amy responds, grinning.

“I'm sick, okay? I have a sore throat and a headache and a bit of a fever. Just take the cash from my wallet, Ames, over there on the painfully sterilized blue chair.”

"Well, get well soon. I can't do anything about your throat or your headache, but I can try this." Amy leans over, lightly kissing Jake's feverish forehead and tucking him into bed. 

As Amy strolls out of Jake’s hospital room, putting four dollar bills into her back pocket, Jake wonders exactly how and when (and _if,_ at this point) he’ll ever get the courage to kiss her back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! comments/kudos are greatly appreciated <3


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re lovely,” he blurts, eyes wide and words pushed together. “Y’know what I mean. The way you feel when you see, like, docks with sunsets. Or flowershops bustling with peonies.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things i listened to while writing this
> 
> 1\. praying by kesha  
> 2\. episodes of superstore  
> 3\. odaat  
> 4\. stupid for you by waterparks  
> 5\. the you ep by dodie clark, too many times

Amy has always been the prim and proper Santiago. For a split second, her mother once admitted after one too many drinks, she thought of naming her first and only daughter Prudence. Her brothers are still holding that over her head. Every once in a while, when they announce their wives’ pregnancies, they add ‘Prudence’ to the list of baby names they might use. On one hand, she knows it’s a joke. She’s a Santiago through and through, fire in her heart and ice running through her veins (well, scientifically speaking, does that work?) 

_On the other hand, for _once_ in her life, she wants to defy the odds. _

Amy Santiago wants to play the cards she was dealt and beat her family at their own game. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to be their stereotype. The worker bee. The no-nonsense one. A million responsibilities would all be under her watchful eye, and she’d finish them all with record-setting speed. Amy wants mechanic control of her brain, so much so that lingering distractions run and hide from her judgment. 

She wants the continuous, addictive surge of control she can only hope to cling onto. If she wants to be efficient, she needs the gait and the glare to be what everyone expects of her, the time management to keep her life together. Maybe she won’t speak her mind at all; she’ll prove everyone wrong in silence, letting the applause of the aftermath motivate her. No more black-and-white guesses or flickering light. 

Realistically, Amy lives a double (or triple or quadruple) life. She is quiet and respectful to her family, only letting bare hints of jokes enter the conversations she has with Santiagos. They see her and know only a fraction of who Amy is. 

At school, Amy ups the ante. Biting her tongue and getting to work on her assignments, she speaks even less than she does at home 一 except when she gives compliments, and even then it’s one calculated sentence before she shuts up again. She walks the tightrope between _school Amy_ and _friend Amy_ once she walks into school, trying to figure out exactly when to cut ties with companions to preserve her grades. Group projects are her nightmare; how is she supposed to tell her friends they don’t understand the six-point plan in her binder without offending them?! 

Regardless of the ramifications, Amy keeps her personas separate. She recognizes what to say when her family’s in the room, how to clue them in on _just_ enough so they think they’ve heard the whole story. Keeping one part of her life private means guarding the rest, too, even if it’s harmless, so she keeps her secrets locked up 一 even those hardly skirting the boundary of confidentiality. 

Deep down, Amy cares how people see her, and she’d rather manipulate their perceptions than come clean. 

Amy enrolls in a nursing program when she’s eighteen. For once, she moves out of the protective arms of her parents and into a college dormitory. True to her old self, though, Amy remains as guarded as ever. Out of the hundreds of nursing students at college, she only befriends a few. The first is eighteen-year-old Jake Peralta, head-over-heels eager to get Amy to open up. Within four months, she tells him the Prudence story. Unlike her brothers, Jake rarely ribs her about it. He only confesses _his_ father wanted to name him Roger Peralta II, and they trash talk Jake’s dad together. 

It’s been years since she began nursing school. Amy still keeps in touch with most of her university friends, having even moved in with the first college companion she ever made. 

* * *

Amy’s first night living with Jake is strange, since he isn’t actually there. Gazing up at the ceiling and counting sheep in her head, she frustratedly groans and stumbles into the closet she now shares with Jake. Plucking an faded blue flannel from the row of coat hangers, she takes it back to bed and hugs it to her chest, wishing to fall asleep even if it’s far past 11:11.

She doesn’t exactly know why his scent is comforting, but it is nonetheless. Amy dozes off wrapped in Jake’s shirt, promising herself she’ll return it to the rack tomorrow morning. It’s not like he’ll be around to see, anyhow, so she curls further into its familiarity.

Jake smells clean and homelike, like hospital soap and dryer sheets and a cappuccino candle.

Her _Amortentia,_ she notes, a few seconds before she blanks. Thank goodness Jake hasn’t read Harry Potter, or he’d make fun of her for days if he found out. True to her regular, old self, she returns the shirt to his (she won’t get used to calling his stuff _theirs_ anytime soon) closet upon waking up.

When Amy arrives at Brooklyn City Hospital, she groans upon crossing the threshold. Chatter and coughs are in the air, more face masks than ever handed out to ward off the flu. Checking her phone to see her list of patients, she notices they’re all on the sixth floor: influenza territory.

She’s in for a long day, ignoring the tickle in the back of her throat and trudging on.

Amy buys a Starbucks frappucino, as expensive as it is, to deliver to Jake. He’s her first stop this morning and is probably burning up, surrounded by fellow flu patients. Why the hospital made everyone with the same illness _neighbors_ is beyond her. Stepping into the elevator with a bunch of bitter nurses, Amy notices there’s only one destination. Only the ‘6’ button is illuminated in lime green light. She clutches the coffee and her clipboard close to her chest, hoping no one in the elevator is sick. It’d be terrible to contract anything while on the job.

From three feet away, Gina texts her _‘hey, girl!! ready to go contract the flu???’,_ followed by _‘if that coffee’s not for jake, can i have it??’_

 _‘Why are you texting me? We’re in the same elevator’_ Amy attempts to text back, but she’s practically trampled as the elevator door opens and physicians rush out onto the sixth floor, running their individual ways and putting on their best fake smiles.

_[messages: 6:53 AM, today]_

**ames:** why are u texting me were in th smae e  
**ames:** *we’re **the same elevator

 **gina in a bottle:** classic amy santiago :///  
**gina in a bottle:** what a dork, i can’t believe u correct all ur grammar mistakes  
**gina in a bottle:** byeeeee,,, i have to go deal w bernard gunderson

 **ames:** ew good luck  
**ames:** see u at lunch!! if you’re not busy w/ rosa, u know

 **gina in a bottle:** i think ill watch her practice cutting into peoples chests instead  
**gina in a bottle:** she does this cool thing where she closes her eyes and practices the operation beforehand  
**gina in a bottle:** she saw it on grey’s anatomy okay IT’S COOL  
**gina in a bottle:** sorry im getting carried away

 **ames:** bye, dork  <3

* * *

Amy hates to wake Jake up so early, but she has rounds to do and Gundersons to see. She knocks respectfully, remembering her flashcard sessions of hospital rules, until the man next door hollers at her to quiet down and just enter. At this point, she might as well, hearing Jake sleeptalk from the other side of the door.

“Jake, get up. It’s Amy, your nurse. I have to check your symptoms.” Nudging his shoulder, her efforts are futile. She fears he’s pretending to be asleep, what with his ridiculous noises 一 this one cozy snuffling sound, like a puppy or something (it’s kind of _cute,_ okay?) mixed with an assortment of sleeptalk and the occasional grunt.

“Wake up!” Amy demands, vigorously shaking Jake’s shoulders. He awakes a good two minutes later, head dizzy with daydreams not yet lived out. Hair unkempt and face pale, he lazily blinks up at her face, as if his eyes don’t work this early in the morning.

“Morning, Ames,” he drawls, words slurred and unsure of how loud they should be. “Why are you with me?” Jake clears his throat, reaching for the box of tissues on the nightstand.

Amy grins, mostly out of pity (and just a _little_ bit because she finds Jake’s messy hair adorably tousled.) “It’s seven in the morning, Peralta. I’m doing rounds, starting with you.”

“Rounds?” He asks, repeating her words and trying to tame his bedhead. “At … seven something o’clock?”

“You know, those daily visits we do for patients?” Amy explains, removing her stethoscope and pressing it to Jake’s chest. She transcribes his heartbeat onto her clipboard after swiping one of his tissues and blowing her nose, Jake tilting his head to see what she could possibly be writing.

“Relax, Jake. Your heart’s fine. It’s just routine,” she clarifies. Amy swipes her thermometer across his forehead and behind his ears, jotting his temperature down as well. “Did you take the amoxicillin prescribed for you, one pill every six to eight hours?”

“Uh … yeah,” Jake confirms. “I took it last night at, like, nine, I think? Then I passed out until around five, when I took another one.”

“So you slept from nine to five and from five to seven? You slept for _ten hours_ after drinking all that coffee?”

“Looks like I beat the odds, huh?” Jake smiles up at Amy, hair still mussed and forehead flushed.

“Well, technically, you proved me and Teddy right by becoming so well-rested-”

Jake scoffs, “Don’t say _‘me and Teddy.’_ It just sounds wrong.” A twinge of envy pricks his mind for no reason at all 一 at least, he hopes there isn’t a reason he should suspect there’s something between Teddy and Amy.

Two feet from him, Amy tucks her hair behind both ears and looks at the ground, the slightest thought that Jake could be jealous making her blush. She really, _really_ has to resist from leaning into him and spilling her (according to everyone else, blatantly obvious) secret.

Clearing her throat and roping the stethoscope back around her neck, she says, “Fine. Whichever way you see the Teddy-coffee-sleep argument, I have to learn about how many Starbucks frappucinos you had yesterday to see how your recovery’s coming. How many? Five? Six?”

“Seven,” Jake groans, rubbing his eyes. “I feel like I drowned in coffee beans while I was sleeping.”

“That’s biologically impossible, Jake. You would have woken up _dead._

“It’s a simaphor!” he protests. “One of those speech figure things!”

“You mean simile?” Amy asks, sniffling. “A figure of speech?”

“Yeah, whatever. Just take my vitals and give me that frappucino you’re hiding behind your back,” Jake grumbles. “And don’t pretend I didn’t see. You were holding it when you walked in.”

Amy raises an eyebrow. “You couldn’t remember what a simile was, but you could tell I was withholding a coffee from you?”

“I have my priorities,” Jake shrugs, opening the drink and downing the bottle in two easy sips. “It also helps that Gina texted me from the elevator you guys took. I’m not a _detective,_ Ames, but give me some credit for having good connections.”

“You realize that drinking coffee makes your throat worse, right? And all that sugar isn’t exactly healthy,” Amy frowns, setting the overpriced frappucino onto Jake’s bedside table. She tells herself it’s because she’s his nurse, after all, but she knows she cares about _him_ more than she does much else.

“I’m a nurse, too, you _elitist,”_ Jake mutters. “We all took the same test. You aren’t any better than the rest of us.”

“Whatever you say, my feverish, aloof friend,” Amy replies, unable to contain her slight grin. “Now, since this visit’s taking way too long and there’s an angry, mediocre white woman by the name of Marie Gunderson waiting a couple doors down, how are you? Everything going well?”

Jake scowls before informing her of his sore throat (he claims he’d pay $100 for some tea with honey, though they both know he couldn’t afford that), fever (like his brain keeps teleporting between the north pole and the equator), and overall soreness (“you know that ache you get when you have really good sex? well, it’s _nothing_ like that!”)

With every question she asks, Jake’s similes become more and more specific, his mind less guarded and tongue looser. Amy has to stifle a laugh when he starts comparing fever dreams to sex dreams: something about the predictability of each, he says a little too loudly, based on past occurrence. She figures he’s paid attention to her bragging about statistical analysis after all.

“Amy!” Jake calls, having bounced to the other side of the bed and flipped through all two pages of his chart. Evidently, the caffeine has coursed through his veins and it, mixed with his medication, has gone straight to his head. “Am I allowed to read this, ‘cause I’m a nurse, too?” He asks, animated with eagerness and some other quality she just can’t put her finger on.

“You should probably add that Charles brought me a chocolate-chip muffin from the cafeteria at 5 A.M,” he reveals.

 _Sugar._ That’s the one component of Jake’s sudden excitability Amy couldn’t quite name. 

“It was one of those super-sweet ones, with chocolate baked right into the batter and huge chocolate chips falling off of it and that crinkly brown paper all around the muffin. That’s when I took my pill,” he continues. “Funny thing is, I always hafta break it in half every time, ‘cause I can’t swallow it otherwise. Pills are so hard to break. They should make a machine that does it for you. Like … like a sewing machine, with a needle to break the pill apart that just bobs up and down and up and down...”

“How interesting, Jake,” Amy drolly nods, hurriedly writing ‘sugar + caffeine + amoxicillin = bad reaction, excited and loopy’ in his chart. Her handwriting errs out of its font-like state as she rushes to get all this information down. “Anything else you want to tell me?”

“Can I say something to my nurse?” Jake asks, eyes wide with the aftershocks of all the chocolate and coffee he’s had. Amy smiles slightly, walking across the room to the windows. Opening the blinds, she lets harsh, gold light fall into his hospital room.

Amy nods, sticking her pen neatly behind her ear and ensuring it doesn’t fall. “It probably won’t go in your medical records, then,” she teases, sure to be gentle with her most unpredictable patient.

“You’re lovely,” he blurts, eyes wide and words pushed together. “Y’know what I mean. The way you feel when you see, like, docks with sunsets. Or flowershops bustling with peonies.”

“You think I’m sunset pretty?” Amy asks shyly, cheeks burning. “Well, to be specific, sunset _lovely._ Guess I can’t write that in your chart, or the hospital would come after every cent you have.”

“Guess you can’t,” Jake replies, his smiled crooked. Amy puts his chart back by the end of his bed, pressing a gentle kiss to Jake’s temple and walking out the room after saying good-bye. She knows he’s all hopped up on chemicals, and his brain must feel like the hasty end of a Whack-A-Mole game right about now (great, now _she’s_ making oddly distinct similes.)

Despite all her doubts, she breathes a sigh of relief once she’s out of his room, embarrassingly pumping her fist in the air. When Amy enters Marie Gunderson’s room and finds Chad half-naked on top of her, she turns the other cheek and apologizes for walking in without knocking louder. Jake’s strangely strung-together conversation runs in her mind all day, a broken record of her favorite words.

It doesn’t even bother her when, in the middle of Chad’s check-up, she sneezes and the pen clatters onto the ground. When Chad snatches the pen and hides it in his sleeve, going so far as to tell her to give up, Amy bites her tongue and stays quiet. She doesn’t normally forfeit goals (or listen to Gundersons, for that matter) but her chest feels too tight and congested for ten in the morning.

She keeps her cool, walking out of his hospital room and ignoring his satisfied chuckle. Amy goes to the back room, selects an identical pen from the stationary safe 一 see, this is why she’s the only one with the combination, just for emergency situations like this 一 and makes a mental note to ruin Chad Gunderson’s life soon.

* * *

Amy works on the sixth floor all day, taking temperatures and comforting patients, but she can’t muster up the courage to enter Jake’s room. The closest she gets is approaching it, bringing her hands to the doorknob before scampering away. He’s heavily medicated, for goodness’ sake, he can’t _control_ what he says in this state 一 anyway, it was just a compliment, and a pretty unconventional one at that.

She finally returns a few minutes before noon, lunchbag slung over her shoulder like a purse. Only knocking once before being let in, Amy still doesn’t know what to say. “So, about what you said, uh, this morning,” Amy stammers, her back against the door, far from Jake’s bedside. “Did you mean that?”

To be honest, she doesn’t know whether or not she wants Jake to reply. When he vapidly blinks at her, a wordless innocence about the air, Amy wants to turn and run right then and there. Her knees are locked, her stomach a stone.

“You saw me today, right?” Jake frowns, face twisted and brows raised in confusion. “Around when _was_ that?”

“Seven,” Amy clarifies, never pausing to think of the correct time. It’s a fact. Abraham Lincoln was the sixteenth president, red blood cells are called erythrocytes, and Jake Peralta called his nurse and best friend pretty ‘like a dock with a sunset’ at seven this morning.

“Okay…” Jake takes the information in slowly, head bobbing as he comes to a conclusion. “Are you sure?”

Amy masks the ghost of her gasp, her heartbeat internally accelerating with the _catch_ of Jake’s drugged confession. Of course it was too good to be true. _Out of sight, out of mind,_ Amy thinks with a small grimace. There’s little left of their morning: nothing but a hastily scrawled temperature reading and a sole set of dearly beloved memories. A chill snakes up Amy’s spine, cold with truth, though her face feels hot.

“I … I think so,” Amy manages, so few words coming to mind. Her eyes widen, stomach churning in dull pain; her hands fidget with each other, tugging at the hair ties ‘round her wrists.

“It’s all in the chart,” she goes on, Jake still sitting in bed without a clue. The mention of his medical records brings nothing to his mind. Chewing the inside of her cheek, Amy cautiously steps away from Jake. When she hits his door, the handle pressing into her back, she makes a poor excuse (“Chad, Marie, Leonard, Bernard … y’know, the others … they need me! medical studies and stuff!”) and runs out.

“Wha-” Jake attempts, too late to keep Amy by his side. A harsh clatter rings outside his door, Amy having crashed into a gurney. Her footsteps echo away as he hears Rosa pick up her tools and curse Santiago out.

* * *

_[messages: 12:12 PM, today]_

**jake mcclane:** hey, did i do something wrong??? u seem v upset ://  
**jake mcclane:** did i have morning wood when u came in this morning or something ?  
**jake mcclane:** sorry. i think this is more serious than that :(  
**jake mcclane:** do u have the flu?? is it a work thing???  
**jake mcclane:** hope ur ok, sorry to pry if it’s important

_[messages: 1:47 PM, today]_

**jake mcclane:** i miss ur company, but i get it if you’re not in the mood to talk

* * *

__

The second friend Amy Santiago makes in nursing school is Teddy Wells. He isn’t as sociable as Jake is, and she doesn’t know whether or not to treasure that. The only all-nighters Amy and Teddy pull are those before finals week, not at parties playing ‘Paranoia’ and taking shots. 

She still remembers the day they met, competing for their professor’s attention (“Wells, Santiago, it doesn’t matter whose arm is longer! Nobody’s raised their hands in class since sixth grade!”) and scouring through library books to read up about patient care. On their study breaks, they watch episodes of Grey’s Anatomy and point out medical inconsistencies or say what they would’ve done. 

Amy remembers how resigned Teddy is when, in the pilot episode, Jake predicts the rhythmic gymnast has an aneurysm. She remembers giggling, chalking a tally mark up on Jake’s side of the board and whispering into his ear that George O’Malley is secretly her favorite character. 

Teddy believes it’s Alex Karev. As if. 

After freshman year finally makes its way out of Amy’s life, when the university finally lets her abandon the dorm for a nearby apartment, Amy moves in with her (former) dormmate Gina. The first day in the building, their new neighbor Charles leaves a just-moved-in gift basket with mini muffins and hand-picked blueberries at their doorstep. Charles puts up a sign for a roommate in the laundromat, one thing leads to another, and he and Jake move across the hall from Amy and Gina. 

Their landlord starts calling the east corner of the third floor ‘nurse central,’ after one too many games of ‘The Opposite of WebMD’ get out of hand. Gina and Charles become the third and fourth college friends Amy has, dutifully listening to her rants about the importance of DNRs and POAs (“no, I don’t care if it’s Izzie Stevens, you can’t save someone’s life without their permission!") 

Teddy becomes but a distant memory, someone to sit next to in class if there truly isn’t any other choice. Amy’s eyes flick over him at the bar, as his request for a pilsner is denied and Jake calls her to join yet another game of ‘Truth or Dare.’ 

So much for friendship. Off with the old, on with the new. 

* * *

She wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but a few sparse tears spring to Amy’s eyes when she heads to the vending machine for a snack and sees the Starbucks frappucinos fully stocked. Dismissing every thought of this morning, she shoves her quarters into the coin slot and buys a bag of Chex Mix, so prepared for a calorie boost, when-

A string of expletives nearly escapes. Her precious snack is jammed between the glass and the rest of the food. Amy bangs her fist on the vending machine, tries to rock it back and forth, willing to try anything short of shattering the glass. Rosa eventually comes by, plucking a bobby pin from her sock and her smallest scalpel from her scrubs’ pocket. She picks the lock within a minute, Amy hiding her grin behind her hand all the while.

“Good luck in the future. I won’t always be here.” Rosa smirks, walking away at the call of her name over the announcing system.

Amy grabs her Chex Mix, then shoves two dollars atop the vending machine so guilt doesn’t overwhelm her as she removes an orange soda for Jake. It’s not stealing if she paid, right? Somewhat? She shakes every distant thought away, ignoring how much better Orangina is, and runs to the elevator.

This time, Amy’s the one to press the ‘6’ button, neon glow surrounding the numbers as the elevator rises and lets her off.

* * *

Amy knocks a neat six times, perfecting the secret rhythm Jake made her learn back in nursing school (“I’m telling you, Ames, the burglary was eleven blocks from here! you know how fast someone can travel eleven blocks?!”) as an added apology. He bids her in at once, honestly without any choice, hooked up to an IV and watching hospital television.

“Hi,” Amy says, stumbling into his room and clutching the soda in one hand. She sits down at his bedside, setting the drink onto the nightstand and gazing at the screen with him. A rerun of Grey’s Anatomy is on, so much so that Amy knows exactly when to wince at the sight of Meredith dropping a kidney on the ground.

“Hey, you,” Jake replies, a slight grin replacing his past worry. “Is everything alright? I mean, it _is_ your first day back, and there are so many people who need care, myself included …”

“Uh … I’m not quite alright, but I’m getting there,” Amy answers, swiping the soda off of the drawer and handing it to Jake. “A peace offering, for being so weird and vacant earlier.”

She doesn’t mention missing Jake’s texts, biting her lip in hopes he’ll let it go without a word. Her fingers fumble over the strap of her watch, tugging with no intention of ever removing it, simply searching for something to do. Just another nervous habit she doesn’t have the strength to let go of.

“Thanks. I missed you.” Quietly sighing, Jake turns the volume down on the television and turns to Amy 一 the only one who still insists on knocking at every patient’s door, the only one he trusts to triple-check his calculations. A misplaced decimal point, a slip of the finger on the calculator, and they’re done for. She can always catch his rare mistakes.

“You want to talk about it?” he continues, testing the waters of their conversation. As if Jake’s walking on thin ice, (what, the water froze in five seconds? pretty scientifically unlikely, if you ask him) he keeps his voice down.

“I suppose,” Amy weakly responds, holding back a cough. “Listen, my problem isn’t anything _huge._ It’s just … something I have to get over. That’s all.”

She should say _someone,_ but he can’t get word of that.

“Vague, but anything’s good,” Jake nods, taking a sip of orange soda. He’s missed the sugar-spiked tang more than he’s realized. After drinking nothing but Starbucks fraps for an entire day and a half, his taste buds are pretty off. “Sorry to pry, but is it about the accident yesterday?”

Conflicted with a lie she’s far too eager to admit, Amy shuts up. Meredith Grey’s monologue fills the silence of the room before credits roll.

“No,” she finally musters, hands balled into fists. Amy rubs at the nape of her neck, ignoring the growing beads of sweat on her forehead and hoping the flush on her face settles itself out. “It’s something else. I _would_ talk about it, but … not now.”

What Amy really means is not with _you,_ but she can’t let those three little words slip from her mouth without causing a stir. She can imagine the hostility now: apologies thrown away, faces turned, sneers hidden, pride prioritized above the truth. What _fun._

“That’s fine,” Jake nods, voice hush and eyes averting her gaze. “Just, you know, if you ever need someone to talk to 一 I could be someone.”

“Well, I really have to get going-” Amy stutters, at the same time Jake asks her to stay by his side. “Sorry,” she laughs, cheer muted by the tension in the air, and she makes the poor decision to pat his head as she backs away and out of the room.

“Visit me soon?” Jake asks, unable to mask the hope in his words. “There’s a Grey’s marathon on TV.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Amy smiles, stumbling into the doorframe before exiting. “Maybe if I have some spare time between one of my shifts, or if you’re still awake when I get off work at eleven.”

A purple bruise blooms above her temple, as if painted over her skin, but Amy can only grin as she lingers across the threshold between Jake’s room and the rest of the hallway. The outside is a headache, yells and beeps ringing over the P.A. system (“no, Mr. Gunderson, you _can’t_ compare this to the Spanish flu! they didn’t have vaccines back then!” followed by “what do you mean, you don’t vaccinate your family? you have a son!”)

“Oh, before I go, you definitely _did_ have morning wood when I came in,” Amy jokes, turning the corner and walking out of Jake’s sight. She’s not around to hear, but he chuckles before groaning, still agonizing over a way to kiss her.

The list on his phone gets to double digits 一 idea #14, somehow make it the 90s again so you can play ‘Spin the Bottle’; idea #15, count down the days until New Year’s Eve and hope she’s still single 一 before Jake shoves his phone under his pillow and turns the volume up on the TV. Everything always feels a little better when Cristina Yang saves the day, after all, even if Jake winces when she and Burke dance around his apartment.

* * *

“So, you now have to make up some intense, secret personal problem?” Gina frowns over a cup of Brooklyn City Hospital’s new frozen yogurt, eating all her gummy bears in rainbow order. It’s a bit of a challenge, but she always mutters ‘this is gay culture!’ if anyone questions her methods.

“Yeah, I shouldn’t have opened my big mouth,” Amy sighs, picking cheesecake cubes from her dessert and using them to top spoonfuls of raspberry froyo.

As a nurse who went to school for years to come this far, she knows she shouldn’t eat such sugary food before dinner. As a nurse who’s been working for eight hours and still has several to go, though, nothing could feel better. The hint of a sore throat she’s been pushing away all day could _also_ use some dessert.

“Any advice?” she squeaks, wincing at the sound of her own sickly voice.

“Couldn’t you say it’s just the stress from being back on the job so early? I mean, you got _electrocuted_ yesterday and you’re already pulling sixteen-hour shifts like it’s no problem. I’m not saying the accident was a good thing, but … if you’re gonna get injured, you might as well remind everyone else.”

“I already told him it wasn’t about getting electrified!” Amy protests, biting into popping boba and gummy lemon-slice candies.

Gina groans, “Mistake number one, Santiago. Nice _going.”_

“Sorry, I panicked and made something up! You know how I am when I’m nervous!”

“Mistake number two.”

Rosa walks downstairs, unclipping her hospital I.D. from her shirt and swiping the card. She arrives to Gina and Amy’s lunch table with a cupful of sour gummy worms, grumbling about how much better Moose Tracks ice cream is.

“Hey, Rosa, have you ever said something dumb and needed a good excuse?” Amy asks, hesitating. “I told Jake I had a big personal problem.”

“Can you use your electrocution?” Rosa offers, frowning. “Seems pretty obvious to me.”

“No,” Gina cuts in, “she already told him it _wasn’t_ the accident at her apartment. She had the perfect excuse but _no,_ you had to throw it away.”

Rosa rolls her eyes, pulling gummy worms apart in her hands. “First mistake, Santiago,” she says, Gina slapping her hand (“I already told her that! We’re on number three!”) immediately after.

“Santiago, you have seven brothers. Can’t you just use one of them?” Rosa asks. “Like, there’s Philip, Vic, Luis and … isn’t one of them named Manny?”

“That’s what everyone always says!” Amy protests, throwing her hands in the air. She does, however, confirm that one of her brothers is named Manny. Rosa grumbles ‘I told you so’ to Gina, who reluctantly slides a five-dollar bill across the table.

“Listen, Ames,” Gina coaxes, “Just say it’s a family issue. You don’t have to go into specifics, and he won’t ask about it because it’s a sensitive topic.”

Amy groans, eating the last of her frozen yogurt and rising to throw the container away. She returns with a second cup of raspberry and watermelon froyo, remarking that she can afford the hospital’s dollar-an-ounce deal (“all staff gets 50% off! I should do this more often, if you ask me”) before her pager interrupts her.

**_[To A. Santiago: Room 653B, Patient C. Gunderson calling]_**

“Ugh,” she sneers, “I swear, Chad Gunderson manages to ruin my life at _all_ times. I can’t wait until he’s healthy again, just so he’ll leave. Anyone else need to go to the sixth floor?”

“I’ll go with you, Amy. Stupid old _Leonard_ has been on my case all day,” Gina mumbles, getting up and checking her pager. “Yep. Another complaint about how the pillows aren’t fluffy enough and the TV doesn’t have enough channels. Like _I_ can change anything.”

Rosa passes, handing Amy two dollars for her frozen yogurt (“you didn’t take that from the top of the vending machine, right?” “anything to make you feel better, Ames”) and kissing Gina goodbye. Gina and Amy wait for the elevator, watching Rosa gloat over the froyo before finally boarding. They don’t even think twice before pressing the ‘6’ button.

“You know, you probably could’ve just brought Jake some frozen yogurt,” Gina mentions once the elevator doors have shut. “It’d probably soothe his sore throat. When we were kids, Nana would always buy huge tubs of Chocolate Chunky Cappuccino and Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream if either of us were sick.”

The elevator opens on the third floor, and Gina rushes to press the ‘close’ button before anyone can board. Amy, for once, doesn’t say a word. They’re having a _moment._

“Aw, what a nice story,” Amy smiles, thinking about the childhood pictures Karen showed her when she was in the hospital with a dislocated shoulder. Jake had blushed madly, laughing at school photographs and faded Polaroids in his mother’s wallet, even calling Gina to visit later in the day. “When I was a kid and one of my brothers got sick, my dad just bought Neapolitan flavor because the rest of us always complained about not getting our favorite kind. It worked pretty well.”

“Nice tactic,” Gina murmurs. “I’ll have to remember that when I have kids.”

“You really think you’ll have that many?” Amy asks, grinning. “Growing up with seven brothers was fun, I mean, but it doesn’t go without its own problems. All eight of us had to share one bathroom in the morning.”

“Rosa and I’ll want ice cream, too,” Gina quietly replies, her response coinciding with the elevator’s arrival to the sixth floor. “Anyway, Ames, good luck with Jake! You can always stay in here and go right back down to the cafeteria for some froyo, if you really want. You have the money.”

With a wink, Gina walks away. As Amy heads back downstairs alone, as most every hospital physician is busy on the sixth floor, she hears Gina mutter to herself about Neapolitan ice cream (“they make a sherbet type, too, don’t they? with lime and orange and grapefruit, I think”)

She has to fight to contain her smile.

* * *

“You came back.” Jake sighs at the sight of Amy standing at his door, two cups of frozen yogurt in her slightly burnt hands. “I mean, not like I didn’t expect you to 一 this isn’t a Nancy Myers movie, for heaven’s sake, you wouldn’t have just _left,_ it’s your job 一 not that you should feel obligated to visit because you work here-”

“I’m back.” Amy succinctly completes his sentence, sitting down at his bedside and putting the froyo down. “That’s all that matters, right?”

“Yeah,” he exhales, leaning over his pillow for the frozen treat. “Ouch, I’m still not used to how much shoulder pain I’m in from this stupid flu. I feel like I just ran a 5K or something.”

Amy reaches for the second cup, unceremoniously plopping cheesecake cubes into her mouth and thanking herself-from-five-minutes-ago for adding extra strawberry sorbet. "I know. This morning you compared it to the soreness you get after really good sex.”

She had to mention it _sometime._

Jake freezes, eyes widening in horror at his past self. “I _said_ that? Ames, I’m so sorry for making you listen to drunk, sugar-buzzed me earlier 一 it’s not even true! This isn’t anything close to post-coital soreness! You poor thing-”

Amy sniffles, biting her lip at the mention of the word ‘coital.’ “You don’t have to apologize, you dork,” she laughs, “You already said all that this morning. Just wanted to see how much you remembered. I can’t believe your brain’s basically a blank slate. What is this, a soap opera where the main character gets amnesia?”

“Aw, you’d make me the main character of your soap, Santiago?” Jake teases, hurriedly eating his combination watermelon and wild berry froyo before it melts. “But, seriously speaking, I don’t remember anything from earlier today. I had to check my medical chart to make sure you were even _here_ at 7 A.M.”

“You said you were going to do that this morning, too.”

“Stop bringing up stuff I did when I was all drugged up on sugar, caffeine and medication! You know I have no account of what happened!”

“Sorry,” Amy clarifies, coughing into her elbow. “It’s just nice to have something to hold over your head, for once in my life. _I_ always have the embarrassing secrets, and _you_ always make fun of me.”

“You got that right, Prudence,” Jake mumbles, smirking at Amy as she reddens furiously. He brings the back of his hand to her forehead, taking her temperature. “Hmm, Santiago, I’d say you have a bit of a fever right now.”

“Shut _up.”_

“I’m serious! I don’t have my tools on me right now, seeing as I’m checked into Brooklyn City as a patient, but you seem pretty sick to me,” Jake explains. “Tissue?”

“Bless you,” Amy groans, blowing her nose and cringing at the honk she makes. “Ugh, maybe I _am_ sick. I really hope not. I have work to do!”

Jake chuckles at the sight of Amy, sitting in his bed and brushing stray hairs out of her face as she sneezes into cheap, hospital-provided Kleenex. He knows this isn’t exactly the time or the place 一 the exact opposite of what they both should be, really 一 but he has to resist from staring too long. Amy Santiago is normally beautiful, of course, but he likes her just a _little_ more now that she’s all crinkly eyes and simple complaints.

“So stereotypical of you, Ames,” he chides, tossing a cheesecake cube into her open mouth. “C’mon, stay with me. From one flu patient to another, don’t you think Grey’s and froyo are the winning combination to beating this illness?”

“No, I have to work-”

“If you’re this sick, Santiago, you’re doing more harm than good by visiting patients,” he explains, easily catching a lone raspberry in his mouth.

Amy cocks an eyebrow, exclaiming, _“You’re_ a patient!”

“Can’t argue with that logic,” Jake retorts, heart floundering in his chest as he tries to catch his breath. “Hey, just … while I have you 一 not that I _have_ you because you’re a woman or because you’re my nurse or something-”

“What?”

“Tell me how I was this morning,” Jake exhales. “I just want to know.”

“Title of your sex tape,” Amy smirks, sending Jake into a laughing fit as he struggles to keep from coughing.

Either his fever’s raising or he’s blushing again, but he’s long waited for the day Amy Santiago, little miss Prudence, can make sex jokes. To think, there was once a time when he would pretend to give her the ‘birds and the bees’ talk for laughs.

“Didn’t know you had it in you,” Jake goes on, “and don’t you dare name another one of my sex tapes.”

“Fine,” Amy admits. “No more sex tape jokes. Goodness, who would’ve thought _I’d_ be the one saying this?”

“You say stuff like ‘oh my goodness’ and ‘heavens’ and ‘my word, how lovely!’ When we first met, you wouldn’t even say ‘gosh.’ The first time I heard you curse, I thought I was dreaming.”

“You dream about me cursing?” Amy frowns, and Jake looks down to not reveal that he may have had a sex dream or two (or five, technically) about her. Hopefully he didn’t mention that this morning.

“Anyway, back to the topic,” says Amy. Jake breathes a sigh of relief for more reasons than one. “This morning, when I came in, I got kind of upset. You were being all weird and hyper, because of the coffee I brought and the chocolate muffin from Charles. So, when it came time for the end of the visit, I asked if you had anything else to say. And you, um, said I was lovely.”

Jake swears he can hear his heartbeat accelerating in the petrified silence of his hospital room, Amy not even stuttering but chewing on the inside of her cheek. He tries to sit absolutely still until he can’t tell whether or not he’s shaking 一 the product of lingering caffeine, maybe, or the stiff atmosphere 一 and Amy speaks once again.

“You said I was lovely, like a dock with a sunset or a flowershop overflowing with peonies, and I know it was dumb of me, but I liked hearing your compliment,” Amy concedes. “I liked being described by you.”

His heart slows a beat or two, still hinged on her conclusion.

“So, when you forgot everything thanks to the very caffeine and amoxicillin that made you open up, I walked out,” Amy explains, fingers tugging at her watchband yet again. “I know it was foolish, but it felt good to pretend.”

“Pretend what?”

“I liked pretending I was yours,” Amy says under her breath. She locks eyes with Jake for a split second before poorly looking away, seeming to find the miniature abstract painting hanging above the doorframe interesting all of a sudden. Jake bites his tongue, looking at his rumpled bedsheets and trying not to guess how many people have slept in them before.

“Amy-”

“No, I get it, I don’t _belong_ to you-”

“Santiago, you-”

“If you want me to leave, I’d be up for-”

“Ames, listen to me-”

“What?” Amy demands, rubbing the violet bruise above her temple and bracing for the worst. Her stomach drops before Jake even begins speaking. Knowing _her,_ she’s in for everything short of a storm, the chaos of conversation pulling her every which way until her gut reactions and stomachaches blur into one.

“I’m really sorry for forgetting what I said this morning … but, y’know, I meant it all the same,” Jake coaxes, his gaze softening the longer he looks at her. “I know I’m not the most articulate person in the world, and I’m currently your hospital patient, but I hope you wouldn’t take it the wrong way if I said I might … like you. In the romantic sense.”

“Oh,” Amy stutters, words falling over themselves like dominoes in her head. “Oh, I can’t believe this is happening. I mean, I-”

“I know, I’ve ruined our friendship,” Jake mumbles.

“No!” Amy interrupts, letting go of her watch and turning to face Jake, somehow seeing his familiar face in a new light. “What I was going to say, before you started talking, was that … I may or may not have been getting up the courage to say the same thing to you.”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”

“What other news have you seen?” Amy frowns. “You were stuck watching hospital television all day!”

Jake rolls his eyes, secretly relieved beyond belief that they can still banter like two old friends 一 well, according to Charles, an old married couple. _Maybe they’ll get there someday,_ he thinks, hiding his smile. _Just maybe._

“Whatever. If you don’t want you stay for the Grey’s marathon, you don’t have to. Sorry for bringing it up,” Jake teases, fully knowing Amy can't resist watching Ellen Pompeo and Sandra Oh get to work at Seattle Grace. True to her nature, Amy grabs the remote from his bedside table and flicks through the channels at lightning speed. “Attagirl.”

* * *

After the first episode ends, when the credits roll and Amy’s successfully muted the TV, Jake presses his forehead to hers. He doesn’t have to contain himself anymore, he thinks, instead putting his arms around Amy’s shoulders and pulling her into a kiss. Her hands circle his waist, cold through his clothing, and Jake actually giggles (yeah, she’s never letting _that_ one go) when she unties the strings keeping his hospital gown on.

“It’s not my fault _your_ clothes aren’t as easy to remove,” he grumbles, fumbling one-handedly with the strap of Amy’s bra before she takes over and pulls her shirt over her head in one fluid motion. He groans at the sight of her 一 black lace this time, his head spinning with the current chain of events 一 when she pulls back.

“Not to put a damper on things, ‘cause I’d really like to fuck you right about now-” Amy hastily explains, Jake gulping at the sound of a curse slipping from her mouth. “But, you know, I don’t think our first time should be when we’re _both_ sick. Sorry.”

“Hey, no need to apologize,” Jake clarifies, reaching behind his back to tie the hospital gown on again. “I wouldn’t want to pressure you.”

“Thank you,” Amy exhales, putting her shirt back on. Jake laughs at the sight of her head sticking out of a sleevehole, adjusting her clothing so that it actually fits. “You’re the best, Peralta.”

“You know it,” he remarks, running a hand through his hair to make sure it isn’t obvious he just (almost) had sex. “Are you leaving?”

He wouldn’t blame her, having spent the better part of an hour and a half locked in his hospital room. Jake’s pretty sure his neighbors on the sixth floor have all heard what he and Amy have gotten up to 一 it’s not _his_ fault if she looks really good tugging his clothes off, or if he's liked her for _ages,_ and if it just happens to have _been awhile._

“Yeah, I have to go,” Amy mutters. “Just realized I came up here in the first place because Chad Gunderson in 653B paged me, and he’s probably furious by now. Do I have sex hair?”

“You didn’t even have sex, babe." It's the first time he's called her that, the word slipping out after Jake's wondered one too many times if she'd like it. 

She doesn't mention it, bringing Jake a flicker of hope. 

“Yeah, but _nearly-"_ Amy protests, smoothing her shirt down her chest. “Just check for me?”

“The answer’s no, Ames, you were on _top,”_ Jake scoffs, leaning in to kiss her before she goes. God, he didn’t even have to wait until New Year’s. “See you soon, I hope?”

Amy grins, stepping a little bit back from his bed. “I’ll finish work at eleven, if you’re still awake. We can watch Grey’s and I can bring some more froyo, alright? Don’t stay up for me, though; it’s bad for your health!”

“Sure, Ames,” Jake nods. “I’ll miss you.”

“One last thing before I go,” Amy requests. “How did you know the word ‘articulate’, when we were talking earlier? Not to be rude, but you don’t usually use big words.”

“Got it from the word-of-the-day toilet paper stash,” Jake retorts. Amy steps into the hallway after hugging him goodbye. All the way down the hall, Jake can hear Chad Gunderson yelling at her (something about wanting a pillow with real goose feathers??) but he’s glad the sixth floor is busy as Amy politely, succinctly shuts Gunderson down.

_Attagirl._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading!!! i'm starting school next week, so i thought i'd end the fic on a happy note. i have a lot of intense classes coming up, so i'll barely have any time to write.
> 
>  **comments/kudos are always appreciated!!** sorry in advance for future late upates.


	4. four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Well, how about we … Netflix and chill?” Jake grins, holding up his empty froyo bowl._
> 
> _“You really want that pun to be the reason we never have sex?” Amy asks, tilting her head._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thanks to @yousaidthegunwasmine for inspiring me to finish this chapter!! and the love of my life @skyepoots who speculates with me about s5!!! i love you both!!

Amy never quite understood the way people walk tightropes, one foot in front of the other, arms held out to their sides. When she hears about someone walking across Niagara Falls, she buries her face in her hands and braces for their defeat. Tightropes are all about _equilibrium,_ precision, not only hitting the bull's-eye but doing so every time.

The person stays alive ― they won’t fall, her brothers chide ― but Amy feels she may every time she hears the story.

She’s always worn her heart on her sleeve. Amy can’t keep a secret to save her life, can’t _stand_ awkward conversations until she blurts something unconventional. Her brothers still sigh every back-to-school night, when she smiles as wide as humanly possible and says things like ‘those slacks are a knockout!’ to her teachers.

Her poor professors never stood a chance.

It’s why, once she deserts back-to-school nights for university orientation, her family can’t fathom the idea of young Amelia (or worse, _Mimi,_ her childhood nickname) finding a sense of balance in life. Not only does Amy enroll in a nursing program and work toward a minor in art history, but she also joins the GSA, book club, and a study group for med students.

The first time she attends a GSA meeting, Gina dragging her through the door (“Ames! Like you’re always saying, lesbians and bi women need solidarity!”) she stumbles into a discussion about representation in the media and spends a good half-hour ranting about ‘bury your gays.’ Everything seems to click into place as Jake passes a box of rainbow Twizzlers around the group. Amy can’t remember a time when she’s spoken more openly … or, in general, just _more._

At the end of the night, after Rosa’s gotten Charles tipsy off of Bellinis, Jake pulls Amy aside.

“Hey, I didn’t know you were coming! Great talk on bi erasure and how networks are always uneasy to say ‘bisexual’ and usually replace it with ‘doesn’t like labels’ or ‘is experimenting.’ You could give a TED talk or something.”

“Aw, thanks.” Amy blushes, always a little flushed after a drink or two. “Being bisexual myself, I felt like it just needed to be said, y’know? I’m a bi icon. A bicon, if you will.”

That third or fourth drink’s bringing out confident Amy.

“Oh, you’re bi, too?” Jake asks, grabbing another glass. “A Bellini to us. You could even call it a bi-llini.”

“To us,” Amy says, clinking her champagne glass to Jake’s and downing the drink. “To puns involving the Latin root ‘bi’ and to support, even if your bi-llini pun was a bit much.”

“It was, wasn’t it?”

* * *

Amy sometimes misses the excitement of college 一 the youth of it all, the brightness of change, the buzz in the air phone cameras can’t quite capture 一 but she enjoys being a nurse all the same. She likes her tennis shoes and familiar blue scrubs, her routine and sleek, black hospital pager. Looking back on the last ten years, Amy’s surprised she’s come this far.

No more nervousness.

Amy enters Jake’s hospital room, not even knocking (admittedly, a chill runs down her spine, but that might be the flu) with two large-size cups of frozen yogurt. Jake grins at the sight of his ~~girl~~ friend walking in, clearing a space on the cramped hospital bed for her.

“Brought your favorite, watermelon sorbet,” Amy grins, handing Jake the dessert and watching his eyes widen. “Yes, they _did_ have green apple flavor this time. You’re just lucky I got there before the Vulture did, babe.”

“We call each other ‘babe’ now?”

“Well, you did it when I was last in here!” she protests, eating yet more cheesecake cubes. Amy can’t help it if the hospital got New York cheesecake _and_ strawberry flavor.

Jake sputters, “I was 一 distracted! We confessed! We made out! You took your shirt off!” He still blushes at the thought of Amy in her bra, as if some perverted teenage boy. _Great._

“Alright, alright, I’ll give you credit for that excuse,” Amy scoffs, inwardly pleased that Jake’s head-over-heels, can’t-speak-correctly smitten over her. She hopes her face doesn’t show it. “Besides, you know, I kind of like it when you call me that. It’s … nice.”

“Same to you, Santiago,” Jake murmurs, chewing boba pearls until they pop in his mouth. “I hope you took all the green apple before the Vulture could get any. He _already_ gets all the cool surgeries, it’s not like he needs anything else.”

“Whatever, it’s in the past,” Amy dismisses, knowing full well Pembroke got his fair share of froyo. She’s not a _monster._ “Just turn on the television and we can kiss during all the commercial breaks.”

“Damn, Santiago,” Jake remarks, raising an eyebrow in awe as he reaches for the remote. “Whatever you say.”

He may be sick, but he’s not _dying,_ now a little (a _lot)_ turned on at the prospect of Amy bossing him around. Authority kink much? Jake bundles hospital blankets around his waist, just in case, as he turns to channel 14 and sees colorful studio logos flash across the screen.

“Looks like the episode just ended,” Amy murmurs, the slightest hint of sweetness hidden in her voice, setting her empty container aside and leaning into Jake’s chest. “What d’you think you should do about it?”

(She _may_ have taken a dose and a half of Tylenol before coming in. Most overworked nurses who haven’t sex in three months try to _do something_ about it, okay? Amy’s ‘doing something about it’ just happened to involve loosening up with flu medication.)

“Fuck,” Jake mutters, same old thoughts circling his head. Leaning and whispering are for people who actually have the courage to tell each other how they feel, so he laughs and pulls Amy closer, one arm draped over her shoulder and a hand cupping her face.

“Sant _iago,_ you’re gonna be the death of me.”

“I can only hope.”

And Amy giggles, unmistakable and true, over a Pizza Hut commercial and Meredith Grey’s monologue, finally, _finally_ doing this the right way, forehead pressed to Jake’s as he narrowly avoids hitting her nose and moves both hands to her hair. Her heart races, as does his; she can feel it through his hospital gown, loud and constant; permissive, even, she kisses his neck and grazes it with her teeth, his groans fending her off for now.

Half the episode passes by, wholeheartedly ignored as Amy tilts her head up to meet Jake’s and he curses in between kisses. When they finally pull away (“I don’t _care_ if you have an infinite supply of condoms, we both have the flu!”) Amy can’t stop smiling, tracing the subtle outline of Jake’s freckles with her index finger and explaining that dimples are actually muscle deformities 一 it doesn’t matter anyway, she says, his are _cute._

She leaves after two more Grey’s episodes, once Jake’s head nearly droops onto her shoulder and he rubs at his eyes, whispering ‘goodnight’ and pecking his cheek. Amy drives home in darkness, yellow stoplights blurring to amber under the guise of her sleepy gaze.

This time, though, she doesn’t need the flannel shirt to fall asleep.

Take _that,_ tightrope walkers.

* * *

“So, according to your chart, I think you could leave the hospital either today and tomorrow, but you’d have to be fully recovered to engage in sexual intercourse, so I’d give that a week and a half with all your antibiotics-”

“Ames?” Jake interrupts, alight. “I can’t wait to _not_ be a patient here, even if you’re taking care of me.”

“Makes sense to me, Peralta. I mean, I’m not a _detective,_ but I have connections.”

“Dork,” he rolls his eyes, “just get me out of this hospital gown and into some real clothes - the kind you can’t untie by pulling a few ribbons.”

“In the bedside drawer, Jake. I, unlike _some_ people, bring my friends changes of clothes when they’re in the hospital-”

“That was one time! We’d just moved in the night before!”

“-and I fully understand, but it’s fun to hold something over your head,” Amy concludes.

Amy turns away as Jake changes (“you know we almost had sex yesterday, right?” “yeah, but it still feels weird! we’re not _dating_ dating … yet”) and he tosses her his jacket once he’s done. Zipping it up to her chin and sticking her thumbs through the sleeve holes, Amy resists the urge to hold Jake’s hand as they walk away from his hospital room.

“Won’t someone be suspicious when they see me wearing your clothes?” she frowns.

“Well, I guess if they figure it out, we could make something up,” Jake explains, “but do you really think anyone’ll notice? Remember last week, when they gave the wrong person a nose job?”

“Alright. Let’s just … not tell people so far. Not that I’m ashamed or anything, but we haven’t even been on our first date.”

“What, like green apple froyo and Grey’s weren’t enough?” Jake teases, putting his hands in his pockets and walking to the front desk. Dozerman is stone-cold stoic, his mouth a flat line (is death-related medical humor considered offensive right about now?) as various workers pull electronic tablets out of a cardboard box.

“And don’t _any_ of you dare play Backgammon while you’re at work,” Dozerman snarls, waving a finger in the air. His assistants nervously nod, turning the iPads on and tapping on one of two apps.

“Yeah, right, like you can keep us from our favorite game, boss,” Hitchcock mutters. “C’mon, Scully, let’s add each other on Google Plus and get started.”

Instead of being dazed, Amy takes a deep breath, crosses her arms, (“power poses are _everything,_ Jake! I’m telling you, try them out sometime!”) and feigns her best smile.“Good morning, Mr. Dozerman. I’d like to request Form 2340, please.”

“Excellent protocol, Nurse Santiago,” Dozerman remarks, abandoning the carton of expensive tablets and saluting Amy. _“Someone’s_ been reading my emails and the attached handbook readings on employee behavior at the front desk. I’m impressed.”

“There isn’t a day on the job that can’t be improved by your email blasts,” Amy replies, returning the salute and smoothly taking the clipboard from his hands. She pulls her favorite pen from the pocket of her scrubs. “Thank you so much, and see you in three minutes.”

“For you? Three and a half,” Dozerman says. “No, wait - make that three minutes, fifteen seconds. I can’t have anyone thinking I play favorites.”

“Sounds good. This stuff is easy,” Jake mutters, taking half the files from Amy’s clipboard and filling them out himself. His hand flies across the page, smearing ink and smudging letters. Jake’s already messy handwriting sinks to a new level, words unintelligible against carbon-copy paper.

“Why are you in such a hurry to leave? We were here a few days ago and you were _much_ more relaxed,” Amy frowns. “Aren’t you just going to drive home and take medication while drinking eight glasses of water a day?”

“You’ll see,” Jake chides, turning the page so fast it nearly rips. “C’mon, tell me regular, paperwork-loving Amy doesn’t let me down.”

A few nicks of ballpoint pen dot her hands, spattering her fingers with dull blue ink, but Amy finishes on schedule. Jake stands up, blood rushing to his head as he nabs spare sheets of medical records and organizes them. The plan’s working.

“Mr. Dozerman!” Jake calls, far too cheerful for seven in the morning. “We’re all done!”

Resisting the urge to hold Amy’s hand (she said they weren’t telling anyone, right?) he hops up and runs out, the paperwork fluttering as it messily lands on the front desk. Amy conceals her pen up the sleeve of Jake’s jacket, brushing hair behind her ears with both burnt hands and leaving.

“Okay, that’s all-” Seth Dozerman stutters, looking up to a waiting room devoid of either Jake Peralta or Amy Santiago. He shrugs 一 he was never much of a people person, anyway, if the hospital hadn’t noticed 一 and returns to work. Nothing like rushing a waiting room full of stressed people to make his day.

* * *

“What are you doing?” Amy giggles, scuffing her tennis shoes as she runs through the parking garage and fumbles in her purse for her keys. “You know the clicky button doesn’t work on my car! Just look around for it, babe!”

She has to admit, she’s _loving_ this nickname thing.

Her whole life, Amy’s hated nicknames. They ring true of judgments, many of them poorly made, and she’s all about owning labels and being her own person. ‘Babydoll’ and ‘kitten’ make her feel about five years old. But ‘babe’ slips through Jake’s lips, as if he’s spent his whole life waiting to say it to her, and she remembers how she used to think her mom’s name was ‘mi amor.’

Amy holds back a smitten grin at the prospect of being called ‘my love.’

“Found it!” Jake calls, running to open to the passenger door for her. “C’mon, I have something to show you!”

“I have work!” Amy protests, but she gets in the car nonetheless, hair disheveled and her sleeve nearly caught in the door as Jake hurriedly shuts it and pulls her into a kiss. It’s quick, breathless, the feeling she used to get when she first started at Brooklyn City Hospital, a clipboard and pen in her arms, trying to keep up with patients and look good enough-

She’s getting carried away. Curse how sappy she gets when Jake calls her nicknames. “What _is_ it?”

“Okay, so when you were checking you out of the hospital a couple days ago and Dozerman kept putting all that pressure on you, I made a pact,” Jake grins, tossing a silver, cube-like contraption into Amy’s hands. “I stole the infamous Seth Dozerman’s electric timer. For you.”

“What in the-” Amy sputters, eyebrows furrowed. _“Why?”_

“Just think about it. It’s a lazy Saturday morning. You walk out of the bedroom - heaven knows what we were doing in there - and _bam,_ the timer’s on the fridge, flashing under the kitchen lights, reminding you of the time your boyfriend bested a workaholic front desk receptionist for _you.”_

“Boyfriend?” Amy repeats.

“Well, yeah, I assumed we’d become boyfriend and girlfriend when we started dating, right?”

“Of course,” she says, smiling, “it just … sounds different out loud.”

“My girlfriend is such a sap,” Jake mumbles. “Oh, fuck, it _does_ sound different!”

“Who’s the sap now?” Amy grumbles, leaning in nevertheless for a chaste kiss. “Anyway, drive home safe, love. Can you pick me up at six?”

“Yeah, as long as you buy us some froyo,” Jake jokes, turning the key in the ignition and buckling his seatbelt. “Love you, Ames.”

Amy sits for a second, unsure if her heart is still in her chest. There’s a _timer_ right in the car with them, the one he stole for her 一 she imagines, almost _hallucinates_ it tick away like sand trickling through an hourglass, breath somehow caught between her lungs and the arid car atmosphere. She wouldn’t normally say _atmosphere,_ but the parking garage feels like another world away from Brooklyn City Hospital.

“Does that-” Jake stammers, hands twitching on the steering wheel. “Does that count as the first time?”

“Do you want it to?” Amy can feel her pager buzzing against her waist, beckoning her back to work. Back where Jake Peralta doesn’t accidentally tell a girl he loves her.

“A parking garage isn’t exactly the most romantic place, Amy,” Jake concedes, rubbing at the nape of his neck. “But, you know, we were always telling each other we loved each other _back then,_ so it just sort of slipped out.”

“Well, _back then,_ we were still the same people,” Amy replies, ignoring the muffled hum of her phone in her pocket. “So, yeah, if you want it to have been our first ‘I love you’ sitting in my car in the parking garage while we both had the flu and hadn’t been on our first date yet but _almost_ had sex and still undoubtedly loved each other a lot - that’s that. I love you.”

She shivers at the notion of such an early confession, covering her smile with her hand, the exact state of their unconventional means left scattered in the air as Jake leans over to open the passenger door, again pulling Amy into a kiss.

“We shouldn’t get carried away-”

“We won’t, I promise,” Jake smirks, pulling apart from Amy long enough for her to step outside the car. “I’ll see you tonight, Ames.”

It’s another five minutes before Amy walks into the hospital, smoothing her scrubs with one hand and running her fingers through her tangled hair.

* * *

Distractions haven’t meant as much to Amy as they do right now, missed messages bombarding her cell phone and pager as thoughts of Jake fly through her mind. Once she walks back into the building, Rosa mutters ‘you’re in for it now, Santiago’ as she lazily leans back on the front desk counter.

“Amy Santiago!” Dozerman calls, marching over to her with wide eyes and an incomprehensibly stern, stiff-lipped expression. “Where have you _been?!”_

“The parking garage?” she frowns.

“For twenty-one minutes, forty-two seconds? Hurry it up next time!” he demands, pulling a heavy, black stopwatch into view. Its long, silver-toned chain links to his pocket, Amy notes, clinking like spare change as Dozerman walks away.

“You _know_ there’ll be a next time. She and Peralta are all over each other,” he mumbles, taking his place at the front desk behind thick Plexiglas.

Amy reddens as the onlooking workers disperse, raising eyebrows and muttering observations of their own. Rosa only grins before taking the elevator to ER 3. As some distorted punishment, Amy walks six flights of stairs, guilt weighing her down with every step. If only she could have managed work better, spent less time kissing and more working, focused more and thought harder about everything going on right now in her life-

A cry jilts the air as Amy reaches the sixth floor. “Miss! Nurse Santiago!”

Amy’s breath hitches at the sight of Helen Gunderson, one hand protectively placed over her chest as she hobbles through the hallway. “I’ve been looking everywhere for … sorry, I’m out of breath … for _you!_ You said to page you, so I tried-”

“Miss Gunderson, I’m so sorry-” Amy stammers, reflexively reaching toward Helen. Her fingers are colorless with cold, eyes so much more sunken than before. “I was wrapped up in the garage, really, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine, just … help me, won’t you?” Helen wheezes, pounding at her chest and reaching for the handrail in the hall. “I just didn’t know what to- what to-”

She vigorously coughs, Amy steering her into a wheelchair as they travel to x-ray.

“I’m no doctor, but it might be walking pneumonia, Miss Gunderson,” Amy coaxes, pushing past crowds and grabbing a spare face mask from the boxes set at different stands. She shoves a few extra in her pockets for good measure. “Have you felt like this in the past few days?”

“I have, but not as-” Helen pauses for breath, “Not as severe.”

“We have you in good hands,” Charles says, leading Helen to the x-ray machine as Amy bids her goodbye with a gentle hug (“we can hug if it’s gentle and quick, it’s in the employee handbook”) and one last sigh. Conversations blends into background noise as Charles and Helen speak. The air remains fragile with uncertainty, the chatter simply white noise, as Miss Gunderson straightens her back and peers at her results.

First mistake, _Santiago,_ she thinks, walking to the staircase once again.

Amy stops by Helen’s room, nervously doting on her with heated towels and her stethoscope on hand. A few bottles of medication litter the bedside table, a schedule carefully written beside them. Guilt, stringent and bitter, spikes in Amy’s system upon reflecting over 一 no, more memory than that, a lone thought pulling her back from progressing 一 the _incident._

A shiver, a scan, two remote beeps of the machine and the bulk _plop_ of a lead vest sounded.

She can still hear the tremor in Helen’s voice as she asked for her results, seeing the limpness in her eyes as she scanned over the X-rays. The room was dark, cluttered beyond belief, and Amy tried to block out the loud wail of the PA system to no avail. Gnashing her teeth together, running out of the room and asking Helen to contact her if she needed anything 一 _‘yeah, Santiago, how’d_ that _work out last time?’_ a voice in her head taunts.

It’s miserable to be guilty, and far more so because she can’t apologize.

If anything, Helen apologizes to _Amy_ for not looking out, not seeing the symptoms ahead of time, and Amy’s explanations don’t _work_ when she can’t quite remember the thirty-plus different causes of pneumonia (it’s _been awhile_ since they had pneumonia patients in the place, alright?) Helen asks for a discount on the X-ray, shying away from the manila envelope Charles apologetically hands her. Her fingers quiver as she types numbers into her phone calculator, only wincing at the result and muttering a quiet, immediate curse.

Amy doesn’t think twice. EKG bills be damned. She passes Charles her credit card without a word.

“Mrs. Gunderson? Would you like assistance back to your room?” Charles asks, meekly nodding to his friend. Amy takes the lead, walking side-by-side with Helen to the sixth floor and thinking up profuse apologies for her blunder. Mistake. Error. Whatever it was, it was _entirely_ preventable, and completely her fault. To think, she risked patients’ well-being 一 and to do what? Kiss in a car? Have a _moment_?

How youthfully stupid, how _cliché_ can she get?

When her shift ends, Amy texts Jake not to come. She doesn’t want him driving on medication, and it’d feel downright selfish to leave the hospital and make out with him some more in the passenger seat. She isn’t in a drastic-confessions-in-the-car headspace, so she hitches a ride home with Charles and falls asleep in his backseat on an empty stomach. Waking up feels about as good as getting electrocuted did. As Charles reaches the doorstep and Jake walks out, jokingly carrying her in bridal-style, she pretends to be asleep so she doesn’t have to confront him.

Once she’s in her bed, Jake having unclipped her pager from her belt and placed on the bedside table (right-side-up and three inches from her first alarm clock, just the way she likes it), he plants a gentle kiss to her temple and tucks her in.

Amy blushes and falls asleep before guilt hits. It just had to be _him,_ didn’t it?

* * *

“Morning, sleepyhead,” a suspiciously smug voice greets. Jake stands at her door, arms crossed and one foot stepping on the other. It’s a wonder he doesn’t fall, Amy thinks, sitting up in bed and trying to straighten her tousled hair out.

“What _time_ is it?”

“It’s 11 A.M., you dork. I turned your alarms off like any good boyfriend would.”

“No, Jake, you don’t get it-” Amy mumbles, wrinkling her nose. She’s wearing yesterday’s clothes, rumpled scrubs whose hue lightly fades with wrinkles in the fabric. Jake draws the curtains, letting light leak into the room and flicker over the bed. “I have _overtime-”_

“It’s Saturday, Santiago.” Jake grins, rolls his eyes, and shuts the closet doors for Amy. One swift sweep and she quiets immediately, not knowing whether to thank him. “C’mon, babe, I made you breakfast!”

“You’re too nice to me, Jake Peralta,” Amy grumbles, pulling her hair up into a messy bun.

Jake links his fingers with hers, almost instinctively pulling her up from bed, and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t enjoying this. She chokes back an excited cry when they walk into the kitchen, tightening her grip on his hand. Jake pretends to wince.

“No, you didn’t possibly-”

“Get up early and buy us tubs of frozen yogurt for breakfast? I _did,”_ Jake confirms, running to the cupboard for two matching bowls.

Amy wraps a red, flannel blanket around her shoulders, sitting down on Jake’s couch before _he_ can. She takes the cushion on the right, the one that doesn’t creak from the time Jake had a trampoline competition with her (she was the only one who brought a trampoline, okay? it was rented.) He won; she remembers the look on his face, the laughter, _‘All I Do Is Win’_ blasting in the background as his neighbor stomped on the ground, one floor up.

She shudders at the thought of having a trampoline competition now, what with the ache in her joints every time she bends the wrong way. Amy misses being healthy. She misses breathing without a stuffy nose, misses drinking something other than warm water with honey, misses all the dates she could be having with _Jake_ if not for the flu, and her throat aches with the sting of this realization until Jake hands her a bowl of frozen yogurt and all the yearning washes away.

He hasn’t let this get him down.

So Amy bites her lip, leaning over Jake’s slouched body for the remote, ignoring his ‘Netflix and _chill’_ pun with a muttered ‘maybe.’ His audible gulp is worth it, she knows. Turning to an early season of Grey’s, the original cast still together, Amy drapes half the blanket around her boyfriend, still processing the fact that she can say that.

They spend far longer than they should on the sofa, Amy straddling Jake’s hips and relishing in the groan he makes, both fully knowing the rules but just a little unwilling to follow every guideline.

“We shouldn’t have sex, right?” Amy asks, a little breathless.

“Right.”

“Why are we still kissing, then?”

“Hell, if you’re gonna ask _that-”_ Jake sputters, eyes wide, before gasping because Amy fucking Santiago just put her hands up his shirt.

Her lips are on his neck and his hands trail down her chest, under yesterday’s scrubs and back up to her bra. Part of him wants to keep going and part of him realizes just how cold her fingers are and the very last part of him knows, _knows_ they should stop 一 he’s a nurse, he went to college for four years to learn you shouldn’t have sex when you’re sick 一 but he likes her too much to listen to the voice of reason in his head.

The only thing that keeps them from fucking (yes, _fucking,_ because making love is a little different) on his couch is the muffled voice of his neighbor.

“Keep it _down!”_ someone shouts, and Amy pulls away at once, blushing at the sight of a faint hickey on Jake’s neck. He likely doesn’t know, and she certainly doesn’t tell him as he embarrassedly runs to the bathroom for a cold shower.

 _Fuck,_ she’s going to be the death of him.

Jake Peralta has too much dignity to get off to the thought of Amy Santiago 一 well, get off _again,_ seeing as she frequently flashes into his brain at all the wrong times, but this is different because she’s dating him ~~without having been on an actual date with him.~~ However, he doesn’t have _enough_ dignity to ward off his wandering mind, ideas he really shouldn’t have racing through his brain as cold water hits him.

He _hates_ being sick.

* * *

Jake walks out of the shower exhausted, a towel around his waist and water dripping down his neck. Amy sighs, never a good sign, her oversized glasses on and yellow memo pad out (the second bad omen.) She mumbles something under her breath, fingers flying over a calculator and scribbling a few values down.

“Everything okay?” He asks, tentative.

“I guess,” she groans. “When you went to go … y’know … I got an email from the bank. I’m not in debt, like _some_ people I know, but I’m closer than I’d like to be.”

“Is it _that_ bad? Don’t you get employee discounts or something?”

“We’re nurses, Jake. We don’t work at Waffle House,” Amy deadpans. “Remember, we’re not retail workers?”

“You nerd,” Jake scoffs, a subtle smile on his face. “Thanks for reminding me.”

“No problem. From one near-debtor to another, wish me luck. No, wait - I don’t need luck, I need _money.”_

“I’m not a near-debtor, but you don’t see me complaining. How much d’you have to pay, anyway?”

“Too much,” Amy says, frowning. “I’d say, like, $3000 for the ambulance ride, plus a few hundred for the actual EKG scan. Plus, I forgot add in Helen’s-”

“What happened to Helen?!”

“Helen Gunderson has pneumonia,” Amy admits. “I paid for the x-ray of her lungs. She almost collapsed in the hallway, trying to get my attention, when we were in the parking garage.”

“Oh,” Jake exhales, a rush of sobriety entering his bloodstream, head clearing with the sudden realization of it all. “Ames, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know-”

“It’s not your fault,” she mumbles. “I don’t want to talk about it, alright?”

“Do you still want me around?” he asks, meek.

“Of course. I always want you around. I just … want to not think about the Gundersons for a while, kay?”

She pats the right couch cushion, waiting until Jake sits down to sink her head onto his shoulder. He shrugs her off to press a chaste kiss to her nose, eliciting a blush before rising again.

“Where are you _going?”_

“I’m getting frozen yogurt for us,” Jake yells back, voice muffled by the television Amy turns on. “And … surprise!”

“Cheesecake cubes,” Amy says, seeing the container cradled under Jake’s arm, unable to withhold a smitten grin behind her hand; he _remembered,_ he thought of her at the store, seven-something in the morning, before buying her favorite topping.

Jake sets the tin in front of her, pulling the metallic lid off with a grunt before telling his girlfriend (fuck, it sounds better every time) to dig in.

“I even bought an extra tub of green apple froyo,” Jake smirks. “Suck it, Vulture.”

“Don’t mention him _here!”_ Amy exclaims, attempting to toss a cheesecake cube into her mouth before Jake catches it. She knocks her shoulder against his (“ouch, babe! remember? joint pain unlike post-coital soreness?”) and tugs him into a short kiss before flipping to the season premiere of Grey’s Anatomy.

“Your favorite character’s still George, right?”

“Yeah,” Amy nods. “And yours is still Cristina?”

“Always and forever.”

“That’s what you’re supposed to say to your significant other!” Amy protests, topping her frozen yogurt with cheesecake.

“Go on a date with me and I will,” Jake challenges.

“Sounds good to me. Next next Monday, let’s go out for lunch.”

“Alright, my love.”

“How did you-”

“A few of your brothers have been coaching me on how to get with you for _forever,”_ Jake retorts. “You should’ve heard some of the advice they had! Diego told me to become a doctor to impress you. Rafael said I should get a EKG scan and say _‘hmm, my love for you isn’t on here!’_ He also suggested some of the worst pick-up lines I’ve ever heard.”

“Like what?”

“Like ‘do you have megalocardia? ‘cause your heart’s so big and loving!’”

“Oh, _ew,”_ Amy giggles. “Well, I’m glad I told you I liked you first.”

“What do you mean? I told you that you were lovely, remember?”

 _“I_ remember. You don’t,” Amy shoots back. “You were drugged up on medication and coffee and chocolate muffins from Boyle.”

“Guess we’ll just have to make some new memories, then.”

“Sure you didn’t nab that line from Rafael?”

“Shut _up,_ I thought it was cute,” Jake snaps. Amy ensures him it was, nestling into his chest (“stop making fun of me! I’m cold!”) as the first episode goes on and on. Jake announces that they’re watching a piece of cinematic history, to which Amy rolls her eyes but wholeheartedly agrees.

* * *

“Oh, would you look at that. The first episode ended. Time for a commercial break!”

“This is Netflix. There aren’t any,” Amy deadpans, furrowing an eyebrow.

“Well, how about we … Netflix and _chill?”_ Jake grins, holding up his empty froyo bowl.

“You really want that pun to be the reason we never have sex?” Amy asks, tilting her head, leaning up against Jake’s shirt and inhaling the smell of dryer sheets and cappuccino candle.

“Yeah, right. Like you can resist _this.”_

“Idiot.”

“Love you too, Ames,” Jake remarks, finally knowing how it _should_ feel when he says it. Amy lifts her head from under his, tugging him into a kiss and mumbling something under her breath.

“What did you say?”

“Love you three,” Amy mutters. “Family thing. It kind of slipped out. You know, ‘cause ‘too’ sounds like ‘two’ and all. I know it’s dumb. I never quite gave it up.”

“It’s kind of cute. You should do it more often,” Jake admits, burying his nose in Amy’s hair. She uses lavender shampoo, he notes.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Love you four.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading!!! comments and kudos are always appreciated <3


	5. five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[messages: 6:51 AM, today]_
> 
> _**jake mcclane:** does it count as a good morning text if we’re already at work???_
> 
> _**santiaghost:** do i have to reply if you already know i’m going to say no? _

It takes a week for Jake and Amy to recover from the flu, all the while feigning smiles to Chad and Marie Gunderson. They have to restrain themselves from kissing toward the end, saying that recovery’s the goal 一 they know better, bending the rules until they break, stealing moments of each other’s days in oversize supply closets and locked hospital rooms. Amy’s heart races a little, her claustrophobia awakening, but Jake beckons her into the largest room he can find and presses her up against a shelf of binders, laughing at her surprise and running a hand through her hair.

When Amy works overtime on the aforementioned Monday, Jake takes it with ease. He gets reservations at Bouche Manger, texting his girlfriend all during her break. When they meet for dinner, they pretend they didn’t take a cab there together, having gotten dressed at their shared apartment. Amy orders an eight-dollar bottle of wine because she can’t taste the difference, tipsy off of the drink and conversation, silvery lamp lights overhead as Jake drunkenly giggles at an anecdote he’s already heard.

She’s wearing red, he notes, downing another glass of wine and thinking about how much better that sweater’s going to look on the floor of their apartment. He has a thing for girls in red, sad as it sounds, rose-colored glasses dizzying his eyes, shades of scarlet flickering through his memory. Jake wants to see her in red all the time, wants to imagine how she leaves smudges of lipstick on his collar, wants her pretty crimson skirts to fall to the floor or furl around her legs 一 and, fuck, he could go on for hours, he’s thought about this more times than he should.

They slip the taxi driver a twenty-dollar bill, not even checking its value before pulling each other closer, the occasional laugh slipping out as they hit noses. Jake mumbles something about loving her as they step into the elevator, nearly missing the correct button because Amy murmurs unmentionables under her breath; then she’s tugging at his tie and pulling him to their place.

He makes a mental note to wear a tie every time.

The living room is never the same after they stumble through it, Jake cracking offhanded jokes about christening the place before he backs into the bedroom door. The knob nearly edges into his spine as he shifts to lift Amy up, loosening his tie while she scrambles to unbutton his shirt. She wraps her legs around his, laughing about how different the world looks from his height before running her errant fingers through his hair.

“Can I mark you?” she drawls, considerate among all this, pressing desperate kisses in a trail around his pulse point.

“Y-yeah, go ahead, I’m - I’d be into that,” Jake stutters, dizzy and dreamlike, an alternate reality playing out before him. “You?”

“I’ll say yellow for slow and red for stop if need be, alright? Just - just under the clothes, please.”

“Yes, _ma’am.”_

* * *

_Fuck,_ he never thought he’d be so lucky as to see Amy Santiago go speechless, reduced to babbling the first syllables of her favorite words. Okay, so maybe Jake can’t take off a girl’s bra with one hand (Amy can’t either) or last longer than ten minutes without holding off for a bit, but he knows how to put out.

Amy moans, legs pinned in Jake’s arms as he pulls apart, eliciting her complaints at this denial. He grins, kisses her inner thighs, and leaves a bruise he never thought he would.

“Jake-” her voice falters.

“Hm?”

_“Please, please keep going.”_

There’s something about her, something in the brevity with which he returns and laps at her clit and she comes, something unknown when she turns over and gets on top, something _good_ as she rides him, something great when he comes; he practically sees stars, as clichéd as it is, mumbling miscellaneous praises to her, and he swears he hasn’t heard a sound better than the moment Amy groans his name, every second of it low and desperate.

It’s worth the daydreaming, the daze of imagining her in his bed, worth night-borne fantasies of having his way with her, fingers pinching at her hips, scratches on his back. It’s worth wondering how she looks when she comes, if she screams during sex (she does, a little) and _definitely_ worth getting hard at work because Amy wore red lipstick after hours or because he realized her dealing-with-patients voice could double as a scolding-then-praising tone.

He overthinks her, but he isn’t sorry. Especially after Amy’s sweater has fallen to their bedroom floor, forgotten in a frenzy of tangled limbs and sheets.

Heaven bless eight-dollar wine.

* * *

The first of Amy’s three alarms goes off at 6 A.M, and she sits up shirtless.

The second rings at 6:10, and Jake attempts to hit the snooze button before realizing Amy paid for a special snooze-disabled model.

The third alarm never goes off because they’re already out of the house, water splashed around the sink because they bumped into each other brushing their teeth, stealing a solitary kiss in the kitchen afterward. Amy tastes like Listerine strips and there are a few forgotten crumbs on the corner of her mouth, but Jake only tells her the latter.

Pulling into the parking garage, Amy tucks hair behind both her ears and walks into Brooklyn City Hospital ahead of Jake. He follows her, unsure of how close he can get before people become suspicious.

“We said we weren’t telling anyone, right?”

“Right.”

And they’re off, snapping face masks and surgical gloves on as if by instinct, both secretly wary of falling ill after spending the last week waiting to get each other into bed. Amy slips a little container of hand sanitizer (the boring kind, not the ones Jake prefers from Bath and Body Works) into the pocket of her scrubs, just in case.

They spend the morning running around the sixth floor, blushing when they run into each other. Amy knows what she wants to say, but she can’t say it without tipping their friends off, so she skitters into another flu patient’s room and pretends she wouldn’t rather be at home right now.

“Morning, Mr. Mitchell! I’m Amy Santiago, and I’ll be your nurse for today.”

“It’s pronounced Mee-shell. It’s French.”

“And it’s spelled the American way?”

“Yes,” Robert Mitchell groans, “It was originally _Michel._ My ancestors changed it when they immigrated here. It’s a real burden.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Amy frowns. “Anyway, what seems to be the problem today?”

“Other than my ancestors?” Robert snaps. “Just general soreness, sore throat, sore limbs, a hacking cough I can’t get rid of … and I _got_ the flu shot this year! What a waste of time.”

“Well, this year’s strain is more aggressive than those of other years, so the hospital just wants to make sure you’re alright.”

“Okay, if you say so,” Robert mutters. “Just think about all the dollars they’re pulling in with flu cases. Worked out perfectly for Brooklyn City Hospital, huh?”

“Yep.”

Thank goodness she knows how to fake a laugh.

Amy decides she doesn’t like Robert Mitchell very much, but she puts on a smile and does her job. He complains about his heartburn when she gets her stethoscope out; he asks for a medication refill when she takes his blood pressure. She can’t do anything about either problem, to which he passive-aggressively smirks and makes comments about how all nurses are just rejected doctors.

 _Patients. You can’t live with ‘em, you can’t live without ‘em,_ and with that memory everything feels a little better. She’s going to see him soon.

* * *

“Hi.”

Goodness, she sounds about thirteen years old, waving to her boyfriend from across the hospital cafeteria.

“Hey, Ames.”

She crosses her fingers underneath the table, where nobody can see, not even Charles, who brings Chilean sea bass and spends half an hour explaining how it used to be called the Patagonian tooth-fish, and how economically savvy the name change was. Gina rolls her eyes, abandoning their table for that of the surgeons. She hides a smile when she shivers and Rosa silently hands over her white lab coat.

“Hey, are you guys okay?” Charles asks.

“Why- what makes you say that?” Jake stammers, ignoring Amy’s hand on his knee. He cursed below his breath when she first started this.

“Well, you guys were kind of fighting after Amy got electrocuted-”

“That’s all in the past,” Amy mutters, moving her hand a few inches along Jake’s thigh.

“And then Jake was in the hospital because he got sick, and Amy was his nurse but she got sick too-”

“Yellow,” Jake whispers, grinding his teeth together because his girlfriend has her hand almost to his hip, pressing little circles into his waist. He needs to stand up after this, and he can’t exactly do that with the reaction he has to Amy’s … ministrations.

“What was that?” Charles frowns.

“Jello,” Jake blurts. “Hospital jello. Inside joke, isn’t that right, Amy?”

“Yeah,” Amy nods, moving her hand away. “Really, Charles, we’re fine. Stop worrying so much about it.”

“Okay, then. Who wants to hear more about the name-changing of ingredients in the culinary world?”

“We do,” Jake and Amy limply chorus.

* * *

_[messages: 12:10 PM, today]_

**jake mcclane:** fUCK  
**jake mcclane:** please tell me ur shifts ends early  
**jake mcclane:** i just want to go home w/ u 

**santiaghost:** sorry if it was unprompted??  
**santiaghost:** i didn’t know if you’d like it 

**jake mcclane:** DID U NOT HEAR ME JUST NOW  
**jake mcclane:** now i just want to kiss u  
**jake mcclane:** a lot  
**jake mcclane:** everywhere  
**jake mcclane:** under your clothes ;) 

* * *

“Hey! Mrs. Linetti! Here for an appointment?” Jake asks, walking to the waiting room and avoiding Dozerman’s careful gaze.

“That’s right,” she grins, taking her purse and walking with him to the stairs.

“So, what seems to be the problem today?”

“My back.” Darlene Linetti is sixty-something, hair graying at the roots, and always has something to say. “It just won’t leave me alone.”

“Aw, sorry to hear that. Do you already have a chiropractor?”

“Nope,” she replies, popping the ‘p.’ “I _wish.”_

“Well, I’ll just take you into one of our rooms and ask some basic questions before handing you off to a doctor.”

They enter an empty room on the second floor, the electricity flickering before Jake scowls at a cricket in the light. Darlene sits down on a blue chair, setting her bag at her feet.

“Alright, try to tell the truth. Most patients don’t.” Jake grins. “On average, how many drinks do you have a week?”

“Three or four?”

“Do you smoke? And, if so, how many cigarettes per week?”

“Two at most.”

“Are you sexually active?”

“Yes,” Darlene grins, “and, from the looks of it, you are too. Is that a hickey?”

“No, I have this - this rare blood condition,” Jake blurts, clapping a hand to his neck. “Moving on … let’s just get Dr. Perez in here to take a look at you.”

“You have no such thing. I’ve known you since you were four years old, Jake Peralta.” Mrs. Linetti dismisses. “Get some makeup and cover it up. I won’t tell Gina,” she whispers.

“Thank you, Mrs. Linetti,” Jake whispers back, walking out of the room with his hand still over his neck.

* * *

“Did you notice anything weird about Jake and Amy today?” Gina frowns over a shared cup of frozen yogurt, digging a plastic spoon in.

“You mean the love bite?” Rosa replies.

“It was _not_ that,” Gina mutters. “You’re reading into things, babe.”

“Am not. I’m telling you, they had sex.”

“No way! They were just fighting a week ago, remember?”

“Hate sex,” Rosa shrugs, tossing a cherry into her mouth. “Jake’d be into that.”

“And then they got sick!”

“They took care of _each other.”_

“That doesn’t mean anything!” Gina protests, biting into a strawberry. “I dunno, I _assume_ they’re going to get together one of these days … but when they’re sick? That’s basic medical knowledge. Amy would _never.”_

“It means _everything._ They’re Jake and Amy. There’s so much sexual tension you could cut it with a knife.”

 _“You_ could. I’d just stand by and watch.”

“Fine, I bet you ten bucks they did it already,” Rosa taunts, crossing her arms. “And I need my lab coat back, dork.”

“Deal’s on.” Gina shakes her girlfriend’s hand firmly before removing the white coat and handing it over. “What’s the point of dating a surgeon without getting to steal their clothes?” she mutters, Rosa turning back to stick her tongue out as she walks out of the cafeteria to the elevator.

“Love you!”

“You too.”

* * *

“Hey, Mrs. Gunderson,” Amy greets, a soft smile on her face as she walks into Helen’s hospital room. “Hope you’re doing alright! Sorry I haven’t been around lately, I’ve been under the weather.”

“You and me both,” Helen jokes. “Anything wrong? Jake’s my regular nurse.”

“No, just checking in. He’s busy with a family friend. Everything alright with your medication?”

“Right as rain,” Helen replies. When Amy laughs, Helen goes on. “My wife always makes fun of me for saying stuff like that, so feel free to. It reminds me of her.”

“That’s so sweet!” Amy exclaims. “Talk about relationship goals.”

“Aw, you’ll get there. You dating anyone?”

“No,” Amy lies, just as she rehearsed. “But I’m bi, so I have double the chance, right?”

“Definitely.”

Amy takes Helen’s temperature, laughing as she winces at the cold stethoscope (“sorry, I can’t do anything about that!”) and writing her symptoms down in the chart. She puts her favorite pen back behind her ear as she takes a look at Helen’s meds.

“You have immaculate handwriting, miss nurse,” Helen remarks, whistling. “It’s practically a font.”

“Thank you so much!” Amy answers. “That’s what my, uh, my friend always says.”

“How sweet.”

“Yeah, he is.”

In the back of her mind, Amy thinks about Jake and his dumb sneakers and his ardent love of scrubs (the show and the clothing), the immaculacy with which he administers medication, even when the rest of life is a mess, because he knows he can’t afford to make a mistake in someone else’s life. She crouches to put the chart back by the end of Helen’s bed, soreness in her joints, and counts down the hours until 6 P.M.

“You alright, miss nurse? You seem a little out of it.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Amy smiles. “Better than fine. It’s just been a long day.”

* * *

They don’t exactly wait until they’re at the apartment to start kissing, but they get pretty close. Once Jake’s sure nobody from work is around, he crosses his fingers at every red light. Amy knows what’s up, even kissing him at the stop signs on the way home. Once there, they run up the stairs, hand in hand and tugging each other along. Amy takes her key from the pocket of her scrubs, pulling Jake to the couch and landing there with a blunt crash.

“I really love you-”

“Mm-hm?” Amy asks, smug as she leans in to kiss his neck.

“-and you’re everything-”

“Of course?”

“-but I’m _super_ turned on and I really need you right now.”

“Well, I’ll see what I can do about that.”

Amy walks with Jake to his (surprisingly neat) room, tightening her ponytail and stepping out of her clothes. His white t-shirt is thrown over a chair next to her pants, forgotten as Amy pins Jake to the bed and presses a harsh kiss to his collarbone.

“Fuck-”

“We’ll get to that,” Amy mumbles, and Jake curses some more under his breath. “Ready?”

* * *

“We’ve been over this _eight times,”_ Rosa groans, exhausted. “It was definitely a hickey. Can we please just move on?”

“Are you sure? You never know!”

She rolls her eyes, aiming a throw pillow at Gina’s face. It’s the kind with sequined jewels on it (“they’re all the rage, Rosa!” “yeah, _right,_ goose”) so it doesn’t make much impact, Charles easily catching the cushion from across the couch.

“I’m telling you, he probably had a one-night stand or something,” Gina protests. “Jake doesn’t have the courage to tell Santiago he likes her.”

“See, that’s another possibility,” Charles nods, “but I still think it’s most probable that Jake and Amy did it.”

“I can’t believe this,” Rosa mutters. “It’s _his_ sex life. Just ask him tomorrow. You’re ruining the Nancy Meyers marathon, guys.”

“Nancy Meyers ruined her _own_ marathon. Nora Ephron is clearly superior,” Charles remarks, holding up his signed DVD copy of ‘You’ve Got Mail.’ “I’ll take Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan any day over Nancy’s work.”

“Charles, you’ve done nothing but wreak havoc since you got here,” Rosa spits. “Stop stirring the waters of conspiracy!”

“Yeah,” Gina replies. “Well, I sort-of disagree with you about the love bite and I like Nancy _and_ Nora, so not really.”

“I can’t believe you,” Rosa mutters. “Some girlfriend.”

“Listen, I’ll just add money to the stakes and we can get back to watching TV, okay?” Charles concedes, pulling a wad of bills from his wallet. “There are now thirty bucks in favor of Jake’s love bite 一 ten from Rosa, twenty from me 一 and fifteen against it from Gina.”

“Okay,” Rosa says, “but you better apologize for that thing you said about Nancy Meyers.”

“Fine.”

“That’s more like it,” Gina snaps.

“You’re practically on his side, babe!” Rosa exclaims.

“Okay, I’ll apologize too. Happy?”

“Happy.”

* * *

“Told you,” Rosa scoffs at seven in the morning, sipping her morning coffee and pointing at Jake’s neck. “Look, there’s another one now.”

“That doesn’t prove anything,” Gina scoffs. “He could’ve hit his neck on something, he could have a blood problem, he could’ve had _another_ one-night stand…”

“Sure,” Charles mocks. “And I could’ve forgotten the correct way to make paella.”

“There’s more than one right way to make paella, Charles! There are ten right ways,” Gina joins in, doing an impression. She can kind of see Jake and Amy together, if she squints really hard and thinks of her friends doing the unimaginable, but she’s not letting that get out anytime soon. “He could have a secret relationship or something, couldn’t he?”

“The secret relationship could be with Amy,” Rosa deadpans.

“Or something else…”

“Like what?” Charles demands, crossing his arms.

“Friends with benefits?” Gina suggests.

“He’d still need someone to do that with,” Rosa grumbles. “I’m telling you, he got some. Check out Amy.”

“Ooh, it’s cerulean scrub day!” Charles chimes.

“No, keep looking,” Rosa rolls her eyes. “See how she’s walking, all stiff?”

“You’re just overthinking this, babe,” Gina dismisses. “She probably just didn’t sleep very well. Give it up.”

Rosa drops her hands, straightening her lab coat and making sure her favorite scalpel is in the pocket of her scrubs. She walks away glancing at Jake, so sure of the bruise on his neck it couldn’t be anything else, and hopes he gets caught soon. Gina and Charles go their separate ways, taking the elevator to the sixth floor, as Rosa walks up to the surgical ward.

“Is that a hickey, Peralta?” Terry frowns, his voice carrying from beneath the staircase.

Dr. Rosa Diaz doesn’t hear Jake’s answer, but she grins.

* * *

_[messages: 7:21 AM, today]_

**jake mcclane:** i told terry i had a one-night stand ????  
**jake mcclane:** you have GOT to stop the neck kisses, babe  
**jake mcclane:** it’s hot but at what cost ?¿ 

* * *

Jake takes a late lunch. Amy's navy blue lunchbox sits into the break room fridge. He misses her presence at the lunch table, misses the way her ankles wrap around his as she innocently grins at him. Eating with the other physicians isn’t quite as entertaining (or sexy, for that matter, but that’s a given.)

“Hey, Jake,” Charles greets. “You had sex last night, right?”

“What?!”

“Dude, everyone can see,” Gina points to his neck.

“Uh- yeah,” Jake stutters. “Last night. Went to a bar, met a great girl, and … got some.”

“I thought you went home with Amy,” Rosa says.

“We, uh, went to the bar together.”

“So did she get lucky too?” Gina frowns.

“I - I’m not sure.”

“Don’t you live together?” Charles demands. “Unless…”

“Unless _what?”_ Rosa snaps.

“Unless they never moved in.”

“What? That’s ridiculous,” Jake dismisses.

“Makes sense to me,” Gina remarks, crossing her arms. “You guys just _happened_ to move all her stuff to your place right after she was electrocuted, when her parents asked her to get out of her old place? How convenient, Peralta.”

“We live together!” Jake protests. “How did you know about what her parents wanted, anyway?”

“She had her ear pressed to the door,” Rosa explains. _“Pathetic.”_

“And yet that’s not the weirdest part of this conversation,” Jake retorts. “Listen, Amy and I live together. We just took separate cabs home because we were … both so drunk. I have no idea if she hooked up with someone. I just know I had a _very_ good night with, um, Brooke.”

“Brooke?” Charles repeats.

“Yeah,” Jake supplies, nodding. “Brooke. That’s her name. And, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m done with lunch.” His leisurely walk turns into a sprint as he makes his way to the staircase.

“Told you I was right,” Rosa mutters. “Case closed.”

* * *

_[messages: 12:49 PM, today]_

**jake mcclane:** i’m so sorry i lied some more  
**jake mcclane:** we drove to a bar after work ?  
**jake mcclane:** i had a one-night stand with someone named brooke  
**jake mcclane:** we took separate cabs home b/c we were both drunk  
**jake mcclane:** and i’m not supposed to know if u had sex last night 

**santiaghost:** at least you actually know whether or not i did  
**santiaghost:** :)  
**santiaghost:** *;) 

**jake mcclane:** DORK  
**jake mcclane:** *DORK who i love very much, and had a great date with, especially because the date ended in sex and we’re,,, really,, good?? 

**santiaghost:** *whom 

**jake mcclane:** this is the worst foreplay ever, ames 

* * *

“Are you sure? I mean, are you _positive?”_ Terry hisses, arms crossed at the cafeteria table. A large-size cup of mango froyo (“Terry loves organic frozen desserts!”) rests between his hands, almost empty.

“Pretty much,” Rosa scoffs, eyeing the sour gummy sharks in her girlfriend’s frozen yogurt container before adeptly stealing one. Gina’s busy taking selfies of her blue-tinted tongue to notice, or she’s just too in love 一 with herself? with Rosa? who knows? 一 to care.

Charles crosses his arms, smug. “We’re practically 100% sure. There’s visual evidence, right?”

“That’s not enough proof!” Terry protests, taking pictures of the green apple froyo for his health and fitness blog. “You can’t just _assume_ two people had sex because one of them might have a hickey.”

“He said it was a one-night stand with some gal named Brooke,” Gina says, repeating the information that’s been circling around the hospital all day. “Take it or leave it.”

“We’re leaving it, babe, not taking it,” Rosa mutters in response. “Brooke? Like _Brooklyn_ City Hospital? Too similar. Jake probably made it up because he and Santiago have gotten into each other’s pants.”

“What are you doing?” A stern voice calls from behind. “Dr. Jeffords? Diaz? Nurses Boyle and Linetti, care to explain?”

“Chief Physician Holt!” Terry greets, turning and hiding his dessert behind his back. “We were just taking a well-deserved break on our … long shift.”

“Long shift?” Holt frowns. “It’s two in the after-”

“Terry!” Teddy calls, out of breath, interrupting Holt 一 an unspoken rule circulated around the hospital, whispered of in the halls, written on interns’ cheat sheets. “Sophia’s adding thirty bucks to the bet, twenty on ‘yes’ and ten on ‘no.’”

A smile pulls at Holt’s lips. “Excuse me? Have any of you read staff rules, page 32, paragraph 2, line 6 lately?”

“It’s allowed,” Gina mumbles, “the rule says we can’t bring playing cards to work or gamble in traditional stakes. You know, exactas, trifectas, quadrellas - quaddies, some people call ‘em - but it never said we couldn’t-”

“Enough,” Holt dismisses, cutting Nurse Linetti off mid-sentence. “Just explain the bet.”

“Really?” Teddy furrows an eyebrow. “Didn’t think you’d go for bets, Chief Physician. No offense.”

“None taken. I’m simply looking to analyze statistics in the workplace, as in _Moneyball._ It’s my favorite film, as you very well know, Dr. Jeffords.”

“Yeah, I remember ushering you out of the theater with tears all over my shirt,” Terry shudders. “Anyway, I don’t know if you’d, um, want to hear about the bet.”

“Just tell me. I’ve surgically removed a boy’s hand from a block of superglue. I can handle it.”

“We’re betting over whether or not Jake and Amy had sex,” Rosa says bluntly, waiting for someone to be taken aback. Soon enough, Teddy drops Sophia’s ten-dollar bills on the table and darts away, pretending his pager is calling him.

“See ya, Wells,” Gina waves. “Glad you left!”

“Alright,” Holt concedes. “Sounds interesting. I’ll put twenty on ‘yes.’ I’m interested to see what happens next.”

“Sweet,” Rosa remarks, sticking Holt’s money into a black wallet fat with wagers. “So that’s … seventy on ‘yes’ and twenty-five on ‘no.’”

Holt frowns. “Who else has betted, Rosa? How many people are involved?”

“A ton,” Gina confirms, pulling up a list on her phone. “For ‘yes’, Rosa put in ten, and Charles and Sophia each have twenty bucks in the running. Your money’s there, too, Chief Physician. For ‘no’, I put in fifteen dollars, and Sophia has ten more in there.”

“Can I add to the stakes?” Terry asks, tossing a pile of ones in Gina’s general direction. “There’s thirteen bucks. I’m putting my money on ‘no.’”

“What happened to ‘there’s no evidence’?” Charles demands. “What changed?”

“Charles, I’m not on your side. I’m on the other team,” Terry retorts, counting bills. “Actually, put eleven of that into the bet. I need the last two for a granola bar from the vending machine.”

“Good choice,” Holt says.

Gina smiles, crossing her legs. “Glad someone’s on our side.”

“Oh, I was referring to the granola bar. I’m not on your _side,_ Gina. There are a plethora of visual signs Peralta and Santiago engaged in sexual activity, such as the increased stiffness in their gaits, and that telltale mark atop Jake’s-”

“And I’m out,” Rosa grumbles. “What have I created?”

* * *

“You want to try something?” Amy suggests, lifting her head from Jake’s chest and looking into his eyes. The credits to _Jeopardy_ are rolling on the television screen, an oversized bowl of popcorn kernels sitting in Jake’s lap. 

He gulps. “What’d you have in mind?” Jake asks, trying to keep his voice from shaking (it fails) and stroking Amy’s cheek (she giggles, so that’s a win for him.)

“I think you’ll like this.” Amy returns to the bedroom with a metallic box, setting it down with satisfaction.

“Handcuffs?” Jake questions.

“Couldn’t be farther from the truth. It’s a gameboard,” Amy replies. “I thought we could play some strip chess, if you’re up for it?”

“Babe, I’m not very good at chess.”

“Neither am I.”

Jake leaps up from bed and the metal lid falls to the ground with a _clank._ “You have the best ideas.”

“I have the best inspiration."

* * *

Rosa sighs. “Of _course_ they moved in together, babe. Where else would Amy live?”

“I don’t know, her old place?”

“Where she was electrocuted? Are you kidding me?”

Charles rolls his eyes. “Guys, let’s just go over unexpectedly. Whether or not they’re together, or if they’re doing it, they can’t do anything if we show up, right? I have a key from the time Jake went to Sea World and he adopted that stray cat.”

“Well, what if one of them is home?” Rosa frowns. “We need a good excuse.”

“The cat!” Charles shrieks.

“The stray cat _died,”_ Gina snaps. “We could dress up as robbers or something.”

“And get busted by the cops?” Rosa asks. “Implausible. We could say we heard about a possible break-in, so we were checking up on ‘em. Better?”

“Much,” Charles confirms. “Come on, let’s go win the hospital pool. Isn’t it up to, like, two or three hundred bucks?”

“That it is,” Gina murmurs, paging through the dollar bills in her wallet. “We all have money in the running, and my mom made a _very_ generous donation to the ‘yes’ side.”

“Alright, let’s go.” Rosa smiles, reaching for her motorcycle helmet and taking Gina’s hand in hers. “Charles, you’re gonna have to drive there. I can only take one passenger, and Goose beats you out every time.”

Gina sticks her tongue out at Charles. “Ready to settle a bet?”

“Ready.”

* * *

“Are you kidding me?” Jake grumbles. “You didn’t _tell_ me that pawns can’t take other pawns straight-on?”

“I can’t believe you didn’t know they can only win other pieces from a diagonal,” Amy explains, elbows digging into Jake’s mattress as she kicks at the bed. She’s wearing one layer of clothing too many to lay chest-down.

“I’ve never hated wearing clothing more,” Jake mutters. “Sorry I ruined your game.”

“It’s not your fault,” Amy consoles. “Here, how about the first person to lose a piece has to take _two_ items of clothing off?”

“Noice.”

Amy frowns down at the chessboard, tracing out the possible steps with her pointer finger. Doing the same, Jake mentally goes over his strategies for the thousandth time; if the horsey (“it’s called a _knight,”_ Amy would correct) can only go in an L-shape, there are about ten or so possibilities. Is he willing to sacrifice his knight for one of Amy’s perfect pawns? Will he move the queen out of its sacred position? It’s too much to-

“Aha!” Charles shrieks.

Too much to handle.

“What are you doing, weirdo?” Amy rolls her eyes, now ~~very~~ glad she’s in a sensible Nakatomi Plaza t-shirt rather than … well, nothing.

“Wait, aren’t you guys-”

“Aren’t we _what?”_ Jake retorts, crossing his arms across his chest. “We’re just playing chess, Boyle. Case closed.”

“But-”

“Come on, Charles,” Amy sighs, putting on an act. “Stop looking for every opportunity to quote-unquote _‘catch us in the act.’”_

“There was this rumor-” Charles stutters, “this, uh, this rumor about … a break-in.”

“Do you always dispel rumors by nearly kicking down the door and yelling?” Amy demands. “The landlord’s going to complain, not to mention the neighbors.”

“Look, we only moved in together. As _friends,”_ Jake clarifies. “That’s it, alright? Stop trying to make something out of nothing.”

“Okay, guess I’ll … go?” Charles raises an eyebrow. “I swear I heard some tip about a robbery, guys.”

“We can keep an eye out, as long as you don’t break down any more doors,” Amy says, showing him the exit. “Have a nice night now. We’re going to continue our game.”

* * *

_[messages: 8:48 PM, today]_

__**boyle boy:** where were you guys????  
**boyle boy:** i guess you were right, gina  
**boyle boy:** they were just playing chess 

**linetti set go:** system user has liked the text ‘i guess you were right, gina’ 

**rosa ➸:** sorry, we got a speeding ticket on the way there  
**rosa ➸:** i flirted my way out of it like A Champ, but it took a while 

**boyle boy:** i guess the ‘no’ side wins?? 

**rosa ➸:** not so fast  
**rosa ➸:** don’t jump to conclusions 

**linetti set go:** wHAT?  
**linetti set go:** you just saw jake with a (maybe) hickey and started a bet  
**linetti set go:** my gf is a hypocrite 

**rosa ➸:** no, i’m checking my facts 

**linetti set go:** NO, you’re saving your ass from losing money to me 

* * *

“Now, where were we? Something about losing two items of clothing?” Jake flirts, cautiously setting the pawns back in their original positions.

“C’mon, let’s go for round two, since the first one wasn’t exactly a success,” Amy grins, already reaching for her pawn and nudging it forward.

“Title of your sextape,” Jake banters, flicking his wrist and knocking Amy’s piece over. “And you know what that means, babe. Okay, so you’re going for … the socks?”

“Clothes are clothes,” Amy shrugs, before she peels her Die Hard t-shirt off and Jake’s breath catches in his chest. “Isn’t that right?” She makes a point of neatly folding it before she returns to the game, nonchalantly tugging the strap of her bra up her shoulder.

“Right,” Jake mumbles, keeping her out of his peripheral. He isn’t sure whether or not he wants to lose this next round to her, but he isn’t exactly disappointed when Amy takes his rook and she ~~orders~~ asks him to take his sweatshirt off. “We’re lucky Charles isn’t here right about now.”

“You could say that,” Amy murmurs, pushing the chessboard aside to pull her boyfriend into a kiss. “C’mon, the game is afoot,” she teases after they separate.

“Nobody’s ever said those two in the same sentence.”

“Nobody’s ever been me. Besides, there are a lot more chess pieces for either of us to lose, if you get my drift.”

 _“Fuck,_ yes,” Jake sighs. “Please, just hickeys under the clothes. I think there’s already a workplace bet as it is. We don’t need to fuel the fire.”

* * *

“Er, good morning, Peralta,” Holt greets, extending a box of surgical face masks. “Have a nice night?”

“Yeah, it was alright,” Jake shrugs, donning a mask and pair of gloves, as is the norm by now. For some reason, his heartbeat accelerates underneath his scrub shirt.

“Good to hear. Wouldn’t want any of our nurse-slash-patients to be faring poorly.”

Jake grins, types out a short text to Amy, and gets on the elevator as he presses the ‘14’ button. She’s at the other side, blushing down at her cell phone, and departs at the sixth floor. Her gaze seems to linger as she looks back for a split second.

**[messages: 6:51 AM, today]**

**jake mcclane: does it count as a good morning text if we’re already at work???**

**santiaghost: do i have to reply if you already know i’m going to say no?**

He almost walks right past the hospital room he’s aiming for, caught in a haze of euphoria, of her, of some sort of dizziness and sensibility all at once.

“Morning, miss. Are you Josephine Murphy?”

“That I am,” she replies, setting her concealer down and running a hand through her black coils. “It’s all in the file. I had hip surgery two days ago, so I’m just recuperating before I can go home.”

“Sounds good to me, ma’am. Any complaints?”

“Nothing you haven’t heard before,” Josie jokes, adjusting her bifocals. “I’m sure you’re sick of patients with the same old problems.”

“You get used to it.”

“That’s more than I can say for my hip replacement,” she winces. “I hate getting put under the knife but, at my age, you never know what the doctors will recommend next.”

“Well, I hope you have a good stay at Brooklyn City Hospital and, if you need anything, feel free to have me paged.” Jake’s reply rolls right off the tongue. It, combined with an eager smile, is part of his daily arsenal against bitter patients. Luckily, Josie Murphy doesn’t seem to be a part of that demographic.

“You don’t happen to have Grey’s Anatomy on the hospital TV, do you? It’s my favorite show.”

He loves this patient. So much for Murphy’s Law, right?

“We do, in fact! Channel 14,” Jake replies. “Quick, who’s your favorite character?”

“Cristina Yang. Who else?”

* * *

“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Gunderson!” Amy greets, signing their check-out papers within a matter of seconds. She flips through the sheets within a matter of seconds, nearly ripping them before the shoves the paperwork into their chests.

“Initial on the lines, won’t you, Marie? Just do it for the both of you.”

Amy’s voice is sickly sweet as Mrs. Gunderson sighs, takes the clipboard from her nurse’s hands, and signs off on her release from Brooklyn City.

“If you two don’t mind a temporary wait, take these down to the front desk and ask for form 2340? Thank you so much. It’s a big help.”

She’s pretty sure her cheeks will be sore from all the smiling, but it’s worth it as Chad and Marie trudge to the stairwell.

“Excuse me!” she calls from the doorway. “The elevator’s reserved for physicians. You’ll have to take the stairs, okay? It’s five flights. Thank you for your patience.”

The elevator rule is an outdated one from decades ago, but the Gundersons don’t have to know that. Their groans are reward enough for Amy as she cleans up Chad’s room, trying to rid it of all evidence he ever lived there. Whoever’ll be in there next doesn’t deserve such punishment.

Amy takes the elevator down to the front desk, partly to see her next patient in and partly to gloat in the Gundersons’ departure. When she arrives, Seth Dozerman is barking orders as usual to his employees, eyes livid and finger pointed to the glowing ‘exit’ sign.

“Santiago!” he calls, and Amy jumps on instinct. “Have you seen my timer?”

She’s an awful liar, but she does her best. “Um, I can’t exactly say. I … don’t recall seeing it before?”

“If you say so. After that little stint in the parking garage, I don’t know if I can trust you. Am I right or am I right?” Dozerman sneers. He pulls his stopwatch, space grey and shiny under the hospital lights, from his pocket. Then, James-Bond-style, he flicks his wrist and pretends to whisper into some secret microphone. “11:39 AM, no sign of the timer, questioned Santiago. Few words.”

Amy frowns slightly. “Who are you talking to?”

“Apple watch. Records my conversations, tells me the time, counts my calories. What’s it to you? Looking for something to _steal_ next?”

“No!” Amy protests. “Just wondering why you need a watch, a stopwatch, _and_ a timer. Isn’t it a little overkill?”

“Shush.”

“Okay, I’ll be going, then.” The only thing cheering Amy up is the exhausted glare on Chad Gunderson’s face as he uncomfortably shifts in line, waiting for form 2340. Was it all worth it, Amy thinks? It is, she finds, when Robert Mitchell takes the last copy and Dozerman has to go print out more copies.

In the distance, she hears a familiar voice yell, “It’s pronounced Mee-shell!”

* * *

“Rosa, babe, I _know_ you’re a perfectionist, but you gotta admit I’m right.”

“Not what I want to hear right now, Gina,” she grumbles. “Shh, shh, they just got here.”

“Hey,” Jake greets, tight-lipped. He’s still wearing the blue surgical gloves Holt passed out this morning, not daring to become sick again. One solitary part of his brain says it’s because he’s a nurse, and another argues he should keep his health up, but the majority of his mind just wants to go home and fall into bed with Amy and hear her laugh the way she did last night, all shivery and cute and like a gasp mixed with a sigh-

“What is _up_ with you?” Gina demands. “You haven’t really been yourself.”

He really shouldn’t let his mind wander on the job.

“Sorry,” Jake excuses himself, inching his hand away from Amy’s under the table. She responds by hooking her foot around his ankle and sending a polite text.

**[messages: 12:17 PM, today]**

**santiaghost: it’s a shame we’re still at work  
** **santiaghost: all these empty rooms and none for us**

Maybe her text isn’t so polite after all, blood rushing to Jake's head (also further south, thank goodness he’s sitting down) as Gina sits expectantly for a reply.

“Y-yeah, about that,” Jake blurts. “I’m just … wrapped up in personal stuff. You know how it gets.”

“No, we really don’t,” Rosa deadpans, disappointment dark in her voice. “C’mon, what could be the deal?”

**[messages: 12:18 PM, today]**

**jake mcclane: after lunch, excuse yourself and go to room 699d, okay?  
** **jake mcclane: if you’re up for it, that is**

“Nothing-” Amy stutters, pressing the screen of her phone against her leg to hide its brightness. “Just, um, none of your business.”

“Then why’s it any of yours?” Gina counters.

“It isn’t,” Jake stammers. “She just stumbled upon it. You know, ‘cause we live together. ‘Cause Charles crashed our chess game last night. Same old, same old. I love … pawns.”

“What?” Rosa asks, feigning innocence. She’s rather good at it, for one of Brooklyn City’s most cutthroat (excuse the pun) surgeons. “Why was he over at your apartment?”

“Something about an attempted robbery?” Jake furrows an eyebrow. “I wasn’t really clear on the whole thing. I guess he was just looking out for us.”

**[messages: 12:19 PM, today]**

 **santiaghost: see you there ;)**

“I suppose,” Gina mutters. “You know how he gets.”

“Yeah,” Amy replies, filling in silence the only way she knows how. “It’s just how he is.” Inside her head, she’s mapping out directions to room 699D, and heat is pooling in her stomach.

* * *

“Do you need something?” Josephine Murphy frowns, sitting up in bed and pressing ‘mute’ on the remote control. Grey’s was just getting to a good scene, too, when some front desk worker had to poke his head through the door.

“Yes, I’m looking for a black timer?” Dozerman asks.

“Um-” Josie stutters, flipping the channel to the news. “Why would that be in here? This is a private room?”

“I’m so sorry, I … just didn’t know where to look. Thanks for your time.”

“Sure? No problem,” Josie frowns, rolling her eyes as Dozerman slams the door and walks away rapidly. “Good luck finding it!”

* * *

“Hey,” Amy murmurs, sliding her hands up Jake’s chest. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”

“Keep it down!” Jake whispers, gazing latently toward the exit before Amy pulls him over to the hospital bed. “The doors don’t lock.”

“Alright, alright. How about you?”

“What does _that_ mean?”

“I’m just saying, last time we did this-”

Flustered, Jake sputters, “You don’t have to remind me, I was _there-”_

“-you were pretty … loud. Mrs. Ackerman, two doors over, asked if we could keep it quiet for her cockatoos.”

“Okay, we’ll work on that.”

“Title of your sextape,” Amy mouths, moving to pull her shirt off. “Come on, we have to be quick.”

* * *

_**[TO ALL STAFF: CODE RED, ROOM 699D]**_

_**[TO ALL STAFF: PATIENT S. DOZERMAN, ICU]** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! this thing is 28 pages on google docs :)))

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!! if you comment know that you will 100% make my day


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